


Star Trek: Voyage into Darkness

by drekadair



Series: Star Trek: Voyage into Darkness [1]
Category: Andromeda (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 43,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drekadair/pseuds/drekadair
Summary: During the confrontation between the Enterprise and the Vengeance, a displacement wave sweeps both ships into the distant Delta Quadrant. Now Kirk and Khan must work together to find their missing crew and somehow return home - but only if they can learn to trust one another first...





	1. Chapter 1

_I don’t believe in a no-win scenario._

Those words had followed James Kirk his entire life, from the day his father died saving eight hundred people to the day he stood on the bridge of his own starship and begged Admiral Marcus to spare the lives of his crew. They followed him now through the corridors of the  _Enterprise_ and into Sickbay, where he faced the man who had shattered his world.

That man, who called himself Khan and who Marcus called John Harrison, sat straight-backed and still on the edge of a biobed, unconcerned by the tense Security officers arrayed around him. His face was closed, unreadable, and unmarked by Kirk’s earlier attack. Kirk remembered, vividly, standing on the surface of Qo’noS and smashing his fist into Khan’s face until the skin of his knuckles split and bled. Some of that rage had left him, but not all: he could feel the remainder as a hot, sharp point lodged under his sternum, waiting for another chance to leave a bruise on the augment’s dark skin.

But not now. Not yet.

“Listen to me, Khan,” he said. “I am going to do everything I can to make you answer for what you did that night at Starfleet headquarters.” He had to pause, because what he was about to do was crazy, and Spock's warnings still rang in his ears. “But right now, I need your help.”

Khan's expression turned faintly scornful. “Of course you do. As your Mr. Spock would say, it is patently obvious. Very well. You need my help.” His tone sharpened, strengthening his slight accent. “In exchange for what? Or do you think that I'll give you my assistance out of the kindness of my heart?”

Kirk wasn't sure Khan had a heart—but if he did, Kirk knew where it lay. “You said you'd do anything for your crew. For your 'family.' Help me, and I can guarantee their safety.”

“Captain.” Khan gave him a pitying smile. “You can't even guarantee the safety of your own crew.”

_Tell me something I don’t know._ “Yeah, well, I’m working on it. I can’t assure the safety of your people without first securing the safety of mine. That should be plain enough. If Marcus succeeds in destroying the  _Enterprise_ , the fact that your crew is cryogenically packed into torpedo frames won’t help them.”

They both glanced at the cryotube McCoy and Carol Marcus had removed from the torpedo, now tucked into a corner of Sickbay. Through the frosted glass Kirk could just make out the attractive features of the pale, dark-haired woman sleeping within.

“They’ll be blown to bits just like the rest of us,” Kirk pressed on, “and their component pieces scattered across empty space.”

Khan said nothing. The silence stretched between them, and Kirk struggled not to show his tension. To give himself a moment’s reprieve he glanced at McCoy, who was bent over a work station.

“Bones, what are you doing to that tribble?”

“The tribble’s dead,” McCoy said without looking up. “A standard medical specimen. I’m injecting Khan’s platelets into the deceased tissue of a necrotic host. You wanted me to figure out what makes the sunuvabitch tick? I’m figuring.”

_And that’s enough stalling_ . Kirk turned back to Khan. “So—are you coming or do I have to do this alone?”

After a moment, Khan’s expression turned thoughtful.

* * *

The Bridge breathed a collective sigh of relief when they received confirmation that Kirk and Khan had successfully boarded the  _Vengeance,_ though they knew none of them were out of danger yet. Spock alone remained unmoved, seated in the captain’s chair and turning over in his mind every possibility, every contingency. He was keenly aware of the number of variables that could turn against them, the many ways in which their plan depended upon pure chance.

McCoy slipped onto the bridge and took up his accustomed post to the left of the captain’s chair, uncharacteristically silent. Spock was about to inquire into his progress with Khan’s bio samples when a loud alarm from the Communication station interrupted the muted hum of Bridge operations.

Uhura turned toward him. “Incoming message from New Vulcan, sir,” she said. “That call you had me try to place? The necessary relay links finally fell into position and it went through. You have the transmission you requested.”

Spock acknowledged this with a nod of approval. “On screen, please. I would acclaim you a wizard at your specialty, Lieutenant, except there are no wizards.”

Uhura offered him a small, pleased smile. “The correct term is ‘sorceress,’ Mr. Spock—and thank you. Putting through the visual.”

The weathered visage that appeared was both familiar and utterly strange to Spock’s eyes. He could see the bones of his face, his own bones that he saw every day in the mirror, robed in lined flesh: a stranger’s face and his own, all at once.

“Mr. Spock,” the image on the viewscreen said.

“Mr. Spock,” the science officer responded.

Though he would never admit it, there were times when philosophically, even emotionally, he was unsettled by conversing with his future self. He refused to allow this to be one of those times. “I will be brief, so as not to waste time neither of us has to spare. In you many travels and experiences, did you ever have occasion to come across a man named Khan?”

Nothing so obvious as a nameable emotion crossed the elder Spock’s face, but the younger man detected a shiver that passed through his entire body. He paused for a long moment, composing his response.

“As you know, I have made a vow never to give you information that could potentially alter your destiny,” he said. “Your path is yours to walk and yours alone. I can and should have no influence over it. I always felt that way would be best for you.”

“As do I,” agreed his younger self.

“That being said, I have to tell you that the individual called Khan is the most dangerous adversary the _Enterprise_ and her crew ever faced.”

Everyone aboard the bridge watched the screen, turning away from stations and letting hands drop from panels. McCoy leaned forward and braced his elbow against the captain’s chair as the elder Spock continued.

“He is—”

The image dissolved in a burst of static.

“Lieutenant!”

“We lost the signal.” Uhura’s hands moved rapidly over her panel. “I don’t know what happened, sir, the connections are still in place. Something must have interrupted the transmission.”

From the Science station, Spock’s relief officer said, “I’m reading a coherent tetryon beam scanning us, Captain.”

“Origin, Ensign.”

“I… I’m not sure,” she said. “But there’s also a displacement wave moving toward us.”

“Onscreen.”

On the viewscreen the static disappeared, replaced by what appeared to be a line of stormclouds in space, sweeping toward the helpless  _Enterprise_ and the crippled  _Vengeance_ . Spock stared at the image, trying to grasp the enormity of the phenomenon, trying to comprehend what it might be. Behind him, McCoy made a noise of disbelief.

“My God,” he breathed. “What _is_ that?”

Spock had no answer for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story draws on a lot of different sources. At its root, it is a mashup (though not a crossover) of STiD and ST:VOY, with some crossover with a little-known show called Andromeda that was created by Gene Roddenberry before his death, a lot of elements from ST:TOS and some of the licensed Star Trek novels, and a little original stuff thrown in. You don't need to know anything about all that: this is a STiD fanfic, and that's the only thing you need to have watched to enjoy this fic.
> 
> Khan is obviously a really important character here. You can find at least four depictions of him in the Star Trek franchise, each slightly different than the others. I have tried to keep him (and all the other characters) as close to canon as possible, but I've made a few changes. One of them is to return Khan to his Indian roots. I adore Benedict Cumberbatch and I understand some of the writers' reasons for casting Khan the way they did. In my head, I still picture (and hear) BC when I write Khan. But my Khan is Sikh, the way Gene Roddenberry first envisioned him.


	2. Chapter 2

They burst onto the bridge of the  _Vengeance_ in a rush of movement. Kirk aimed for the Tactical console before the doors were fully open, trusting the layout would be similar to other Starfleet ships. His shot hit. The ensign seated there slumped in his chair, and then everything devolved into a quick, dirty skirmish. Kirk dodged a shot while firing off two more of his own. He briefly lost track of Scotty, but was keenly aware of Khan making short work of anyone who got too close to him.

There was a brief moment of calm. Kirk and Scotty stood, panting and clutching their phasers. Khan was barely breathing hard. Carol Marcus, whom Kirk was relieved to see unharmed, was breathing heavily as well: she’d taken down at least one of the Security officers. In the captain’s chair sat Admiral Marcus, unmoved by the fight that had briefly raged around him.

Kirk looked to Scotty. Before he could give the signal, an alarm on the Navigation panel began beeping shrilly. He hesitated. If they needed Khan…

“Dr. Marcus,” he said.

Carol hurried to the panel and unceremoniously shoved the body of the unconscious ensign who had manned it to the floor. Kirk kept his phaser trained on Marcus, which conveniently kept his field of fire close to Khan.

“Admiral Alexander Marcus, by authority granted me under the relevant Starfleet regulations governing the use of unauthorized and excessive force, I hereby relieve you of command and place you under arrest.”

Marcus sounded more exasperated than upset. “You’re not actually going to do this, are you?” he demanded. “Do you still really think Starfleet is about exploring ‘strange new worlds’? That’s a fantasy—”

Carol cut across him. “There’s some kind of displacement wave coming toward us, sir.”

“Put it onscreen. Mr. Scott, hail the _Enterprise_.”

As Scotty crossed the bridge to the Comm panel, an image of the wave appeared on the viewscreen, and Kirk briefly forgot all about Marcus and Khan. It looked like one of the terrible thunderstorms that had swept across Iowa when he was ten, after the weather stabilizers failed. He had never forgotten the sight of them sweeping across the fields…

“I have the _Enterprise_ , sir.”

Kirk shook himself. “Spock, are you seeing this?”

Spock’s voice echoed through the bridge.  _“Affirmative, captain.”_

“What is it? Where’s it coming from?”

“ _There is not enough data to speculate.”_ Anticipating Kirk’s next question, Spock added, _“We attempted to disperse the wave with a graviton field, with no effect.”_

Carol said, “Sir, the wave will reach us in ten seconds.”

“Raise shields,” Kirk told her. “Spock—”

“ _Our shields are up, Captain, but at minimal power.”_

There wasn’t anything he could do about that, wasn’t anything either of them could do about that. Not in ten seconds. He pushed the thought aside and focused on what he could do. He crossed to the captain’s chair, causing both Marcus and Khan to tense, and punched up the shipwide channel on the chair’s comm controls.

“All hands, brace for impact!”

He dropped into the chair next to Carol and holstered his phaser so he could grip the sides. It was a risk; he suspected Khan could do a lot of damage in ten seconds. He met Marcus’s eyes and said, “Don’t do anything stupid, Admiral.”

Khan's mouth twisted with scorn. “The men aboard this ship are your enemies, captain. Do you usually give your enemies fair warning?”

“Three seconds to impact,” Carol said. Her knuckles were white on the edges of her chair.

Kirk met Khan's gaze deliberately. “You should hold on to something.”

Khan narrowed his eyes, and Kirk reminded himself that baiting Khan was both dangerous and counterproductive. Then a blinding white light washed over him, and he thought of nothing more.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Kirk struggled back to consciousness with the idea that it would be unpleasant to wake up, but that he should do it anyway. After a confused moment he realized he was lying on the deck of a starship. It took another moment to remember Khan, the  _Vengeance_ , and the displacement wave. He opened his eyes.

The bridge was dark, lit only by auxiliary lights and sparks erupting from damaged consoles. Alarms screamed from half a dozen panels. Kirk pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and immediately tripped over a body. He knelt and turned it over. It was the young ensign who had manned the Tactical console, the one Kirk had stunned. His body was still warm, but when Kirk felt his neck there was no pulse.

Carol Marcus lay on the deck nearby. Cold, Kirk crawled over to her and gasped with relief when he saw she was breathing steadily. The side of her face was singed from a too-close explosion, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. When he shook her gently, she groaned and opened her eyes.

From across the bridge, someone moaned a series of unintelligible swearwords. Kirk felt the corner of his mouth twitch in an involuntary smile.

“Scotty, you okay?”

“Aye, Captain,” Scotty answered, though he sounded unsure of his diagnosis. “A bit knocked about, but nothing seems broken.”

“Excellent. See if you can raise the _Enterprise_.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Dad?” Carol dragged herself to the captain’s chair, where Marcus lay slumped on the deck. “Daddy?” She reached out and touched his hand. She sounded small and lost.

Kirk crouched beside her. The admiral was alive, but Kirk knew he needed medical attention. His chest rose and fell erratically, and Kirk’s gentle fingers found a soft spot at the base of his skull, where his head must have struck the back of the chair.

“Dr. Marcus,” Kirk said. “Carol.” She blinked, looked at him. “There’s nothing we can do here. Right now I need your help.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Of course.” She moved blindly to the nearest station and stared at the controls.

“Get me damage reports, Dr. Marcus,” Kirk said, and her eyes focused.

“I’ve got the _Enterprise_ , sir,” Scotty said, “But it’s audio only.”

“That's fine.” Kirk scanned the bridge, searching for the one man he hadn't expected to have to check on. “Spock, what's your status?”

He found Khan crumpled in a corner, his black clothes almost invisible in the darkness. Kirk was so sure Khan would be the first to recover from the impact that at first he was convinced the augment's apparent unconsciousness was a ruse. Only when he saw the blood matting Khan's dark hair did he realize Khan might actually be hurt. He brushed a stray lock of hair off Khan's forehead to reveal a wound just above his right temple. White bone gleamed through the blood and broken skin.

“ _We have sustained damage, captain_ ,” Spock said, staticky. Kirk heard urgent voices in the background. “ _Damage reports are still coming in, as are casualty reports_ —”

_Casualty reports_ . The words drove the air out of his lungs. At the same moment, Khan's hand snapped out and wrapped around Kirk's wrist. Kirk jerked back in surprise and almost fell. Khan's fingers pressed against Kirk's skin with bruising strength. 

Kirk gritted his teeth against the pain. “Khan.”

“Captain,” Khan said. His voice was rough. He kept his eyes closed.

“I told you to hold on to something.”

At this, Khan opened his left eye, though his right remained closed, glued shut by the blood that covered half his face. “Captain,” he said again, his voice as dry as Kirk's.

The captain's comm panel whistled. “ _Engineering to Bridge! We have severe damage down here. Possibility of a warp core breach!_ ”

“Do you need medical attention?” Kirk asked Khan, more out of courtesy than concern.

Khan released Kirk's wrist, stood in one smooth movement, and wiped the blood out of his eye. He only wobbled a little, which impressed Kirk: that head wound would have killed an ordinary human. Kirk stood as well. Kneeling at Khan's feet didn't seem like a healthy place to be.

The comm whistled again. “ _Bridge, do you read?_ ” The voice sounded increasingly frantic.

“Captain!” Carol said, “There's a hull breach on Deck 14.”

“There is an automated repair system—” Khan began.

“Yes, I see that,” Carol interrupted. “It's not responding.”

“Captain, I’ve got to get down to Engineering—”

“I know, Mr. Scott. Hold on.” Kirk returned to the captain's chair and punched up the shipwide channel again. “This is Captain Kirk.” He could hear the faint echo of his voice through the ship. “I don't know what Admiral Marcus told you, but his mission was illegal and unsanctioned by Starfleet Command.” At least, Kirk hoped it was. He glanced down at Marcus's barely-breathing body. “I have relieved the admiral of command, and I suggest you cooperate fully with my crew.” He switched channels. “Engineering, this is the captain. I'm sending someone down to help you now.”

“ _Acknowledged, sir_ ,” came the relieved reply.

Whoever was in Engineering, Kirk thought, was a practical woman. But he couldn't count on the rest of the crew to be as accepting of the change in command.

“M. Scott, I'm sending you to Engineering.” Scotty was already on his feet, waiting beside the turbolift for the order. “Khan, I want you to go with him in case there's trouble.”

He met Khan's impassive gaze with more confidence than he felt. He wasn't sure what he would do if Khan refused. Carol couldn't accompany Scotty: she was a physicist, not trained in anything more than basic combat. Kirk would have to go, leaving Khan on the bridge of the most powerful starship in the quadrant, where his most hated enemy lay helpless. And surely Khan knew all of that—

But then Khan blinked and said, “Captain,” for a third time. He crossed the bridge, passing uncomfortably close to Kirk and followed Scotty into the turbolift.

Kirk let out a sigh of relief. He felt like a mouse playing chess with a cat, and he hated Khan for making him feel that way.

“Are our transporters working?”

“Yes, captain,” Carol said.

“Beam the admiral over to Sickbay, then see if you can find a repair crew for that hull breach.”

“Yes, sir.”

“ _Captain, do you read?_ ”

It was Spock, speaking through the still-open channel with the  _Enterprise_ . “I hear you, Spock. What's going on?”

“ _We are detecting an unidentified object nearby. Can you confirm with your sensors?_ ”

“Just a second,” Kirk said. “We're a little short-staffed over here.”

He quickly realized all the consoles were highly redundant, and he could access Nav functions without having to leave the Comm station. The  _Vengeance_ 's navigational sensors were excellent, but the rest were minimal at best and Kirk could do little more than confirm that there was  _something_ out there. 

He finally managed to get the viewscreen operational—and then he sat back and stared. At the front of the bridge, Carol's hands stilled as she looked up the image.

“What is that?” she said.

Kirk's first guess was it was some kind of space station, though it resembled no design he had ever seen. A dozen wide, flat panels stuck out from a central hub at different angles. Every few seconds a pulse of light shot from the base of the hub and disappeared into the distance.

“Mr. Spock, are you seeing what we're seeing?”

“ _I assume so_ —” someone, Kirk thought it was Chekov, said something he couldn't make out. “ _Did you hear, that, Captain?_ ”

“No.” Something in Spock's voice made Kirk think it wasn't good news.

“ _Captain, if our sensors are working correctly, we are more than 70 thousand light years from Earth._ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“ _We appear to be—_ ”

“No, I heard you.” He didn't want to hear it again, but he brought up the nav sensor data he had so quickly dismissed while investigating the array. There it was, printed on the screen in stark, undeniable numbers: they were on the other side of the galaxy.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to update yesterday, but life happened. So inconvenient. Anyway, apologies for the delay! And thank you to everyone who's favorited/followed/kudoed/(especially) reviewed!

The decks of the  _Vengeance_ were dark, lit only by dim red emergency lights—more than sufficient illumination for Khan's genetically engineered eyes. He strode through the corridors, Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott trailing nervously behind him, alert for any crewmen foolish enough to get in his way. This task hardly required all his attention, and the remainder he focused on his next moves in the deadly game he found himself playing. With Marcus removed from the board, at least temporarily, his greatest opponent was now Kirk—who was proving to be a surprising foe.

After the attack on Starfleet Headquarters, Khan had thought Marcus would pursue him to Qo’noS himself, but he had underestimated the admiral’s cowardice. Instead, he had sent a sacrificial pawn in his place, and that was exactly what Khan had expected Kirk to be: a pawn, no more. Instead, he had proved to be principled, intelligent, and courageous—and for an unaugmented human, he had a good punch. He was a superior man, but he was still Khan’s enemy.

He’d had a chance on the bridge to kill Kirk and take over the  _Vengeance_ . Pragmatism had stayed his hand. The displacement wave, whatever its origin, had unsettled the board, and until Khan knew where all the pieces had fallen it was best to keep Kirk where he could use him. Still, there were moves he could make now to ensure—

Movement out of the corner of his eye. There was someone pacing them in a parallel corridor, visible for a brief second at the junction of an intersecting hallway. He caught no more than a glimpse, a sliver of silhouette that seemed strangely familiar. Khan picked up his pace, putting distance between himself and Scott. At the next junction he turned in the opposite direction from their pursuer, broke into a run, and took the first turn he came to. He heard Scott, standing at the last junction, calling after him, but he was well out of sight of both the engineer and whoever was following them.

With his intimate knowledge of the ship’s layout, it was simple for Khan to cut back across their track, reach the paralleling corridor and work his way silently to where he knew their pursuer would be, watching the confused Scott and wondering where Khan had gone…

Except he wasn’t.

From behind him, someone said, “Commander.”

It was the rank Marcus had given him after waking him from stasis, the rank he had answered to for more than two years. Out of habit, Khan turned. His eyes widened. “This is… impossible.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” the other said.

Then Khan saw the knife.

 

Several minutes later, Khan caught up to Scott outside Engineering. Scott threw him a sharp look, but did not break stride.

“Where the hell did you go?” he demanded.

“My apologies. I had some personal business to attend to.”

“Well, you picked a bad time for it. A core breach waits for no one!”

“Actually,” Khan said, “I believe I picked the _perfect_ time.”

 

* * *

 

“The hull breach on deck fourteen is sealed,” Carol said.

“Best news I’ve had all week,” Kirk muttered. He was currently half inside a wall conduit, trying to restore power to internal sensors and wishing Scotty was here. “How are they doing in Engineering?”

“I can’t tell.” Carol bent over the Nav console, to which she had rerouted almost all bridge functions. “We lost contact with Engineering when the repair crews rerouted power around the ruptured conduits on deck 12.”

“Do we still have—”

The doors to the bridge slid open. Kirk scrambled out of the console and flung himself between Carol and the person who stood in the doorway—a lean Andorian woman in the black uniform of the  _Vengeance_ crew, with a commander’s stripes on her sleeve. She glanced at the phaser in his hand; he eyed the phaser in hers.

“You must be Captain Kirk,” she said. “What have you done with Admiral Marcus?”

“I relieved him of command.”

“So I heard. What have you _done_ with him?”

“That’s none of your concern, _commander_. Lower your weapon.”

He watched her struggle between loyalty to Marcus and the instinct to obey an order from a superior officer. Her phaser remained steady. “Where is he?” she repeated.

Kirk hesitated. “He was badly injured in the impact,” he said. “He’s aboard the  _Enterprise_ , receiving medical attention.” He watched the nose of her phaser drift toward the deck and pressed, “His mission—this mission—was illegal and wrong.”

“I know,” she said. She held his gaze even as her arm lowered. Her eyes were fierce and very pale. “I’ve known from the beginning.” She placed the phaser on the ground and kicked it toward him. It skittered across the deck plates and he stopped it with his foot. “I am Commander Thryshi Sh'athylnik, Intelligence Division. As the ranking officer of the _Vengenace_ , I surrender this ship to you, captain.”

Kirk made no move to pick up the weapon. “I offered my surrender to Admiral Marcus, and he tried to destroy my ship and my crew.”

“You’re not Admiral Marcus.”

“No,” Kirk said. “I’m not.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Now that we’ve established that,” Sh’athylnik said, “What the hell is going on?”

“Sir,” Carol interrupted, “We're being scanned by the array. It's penetrated our shields.”

“What kind of scan?” Kirk demanded.

There was no answer. Sh’athylnik’s eyes widened, and Kirk dared to glance over his shoulder. The Nav station was empty. Carol was gone.

“What the hell—” Kirk turned back to Sh’athylnik, only to find she, too, was gone. He felt something like a transporter effect seize him, and thought, _Oh, shi—_

 


	5. Chapter 5

—the bridge dissolved into warm afternoon sunshine. Kirk squinted through the unexpected brightness and saw that he was... home.

It wasn't home. It  _couldn't_ be home. But it looked like any of the farms Kirk had known growing up in Iowa—one of the old-fashioned kind, where they kept horses and shunned food synthesizers and there was always a swing or a rocking chair on the front porch.

Sure enough, there were horses, big glossy-coated draft horses grazing in a small pasture bordered on one side by the cornfield Kirk had materialized in. He walked through the cornrows, the stalks rattling seductively in his hands. It was late summer, almost fall, and the stalks were dry and brown, the ears long since harvested. It wasn't home, it  _couldn't_ be home, but the feel of the papery leaves and the sound of the breeze hissing through the rows was so evocative of comfort and safety that he wanted, just for a moment, to believe it was real.

Kirk pushed aside the wave of homesickness with the last of the corn stalks and walked past the unconcerned horses. On the far side of the pasture was a hedgerow, and beyond that a handsome old farmhouse, exactly the kind he would have imagined for a farm like this. He saw others coming out of the cornfield, or emerging from the thick band of trees that bordered the east side of the pasture: familiar faces from the  _Enterprise_ , and unfamiliar ones wearing the black uniforms of the  _Vengenace_ . Kirk spotted Sh’athylnik among the latter, wearing the same expression of confusion everyone else wore.

A grandmotherly sort of woman carrying a tray came out of the farmhouse. “Come up here!” she called. “Come on now! I have a pitcher of lemonade and some sugar cookies.”

_Not quite Ohio_ . The woman's accent was Southern, not Midwestern, and there was no swing on the porch, only wicker chairs with lots of cushions.  _Bones_ , Kirk thought wryly,  _would feel right at home_ .

As though the thought had summoned him, Kirk spotted McCoy kneeling on the close-clipped lawn that surrounded the farmhouse. A small cluster of people stood around him, including Khan. Kirk hurried toward them.

Spock appeared, apparently from thin air, and matched his stride. Kirk saw he had procured a tricorder from somewhere and was scanning their surroundings. “What do you make of this, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked him.

“We've only transported one hundred kilometers, captain. We're inside the array.”

“Then what's this?” Kirk waved a hand at the sunshine, the farmhouse, the horses.

“There's no indication of stable matter. This must be some kind of holographic projection.”

Kirk could feel the warmth of the sun across his shoulders and smell the earthy scent of horse manure. If this was a hologram, it was light-years beyond anything the Federation had. Of course, so was the ability to move two starships across the galaxy.

Reaching the edge of the small crowd, Kirk pushed past a yeoman and an ensign to reach McCoy's side. The doctor knelt next to a young woman who lay motionless on the grass, scanning her with a medical tricorder. At first Kirk thought he didn't know her. Instead of either style of Starfleet uniform, she wore an attractively snug crimson coverall belted at the waist. Her short black hair jogged Kirk's memory: she was the woman from the open cryopod he had seen in sickbay. Khan stood at the woman's feet, his expression raw, taut.

“Who is she?” Kirk asked.

Khan lifted his eyes from the woman's unmoving body. The wound over his eye was already healed, the blood washed away. “Her name is Kati,” he said softly.

Kirk looked away first. “What's wrong with her, Bones?”

McCoy grimaced in frustration. “She's coming out of stasis. Or rather, she should be coming out of stasis. But without the life-support functions of the cryopod, the thawing process is killing her.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“If I had a biobed? And my instruments? Hell, yes! Here...”

The grandmotherly woman bounced across the lawn to them, still carrying her tray. “Oh, you poor things, you must be tired out,” she cooed. “Come on and sit down and rest a while, have a cold drink, hmmm?” She beckoned them toward the house.

“No, thank you, ma'am,” Kirk said firmly. “My name is James Kirk, captain of the Federation starship _Enterprise_. This woman is in need of medical attention—”

“Now just make yourselves right at home,” the woman said, waving her hand airily. “The neighbors should be here any minute.”

Khan stepped past Kirk and seized her arm. He twisted it cruelly, and the woman gasped in pain, the tray tumbling to the ground. Cookies spilled across the grass. “Whatever game you are playing, end it now,” he snarled. “Return us to the  _Enterprise_ immediately.”

“Khan!” Kirk protested. He grabbed the augment's arm and tried to pull him away from the woman. It felt like trying to move a boulder.

“Oh,” the woman whimpered. “Why here they are.” She flapped her free hand over Khan's shoulder in greeting.

Kirk glanced behind him and saw a group of people, dressed to match the house and the horses, spill onto the lawn. They were relaxed and smiling. A pretty young woman walked arm-in-arm with an old man carrying a banjo; another woman had a wicker basket of food. They seemed not to notice Khan abusing their hostess.

“ _Khan_ ,” Kirk repeated, pulling harder. This time he felt Khan's body give a little. “Let her go. She's a just a hologram, she's not real.”

Khan's grip tightened on the woman’s arm until his knuckles turned white. She gave another squawk of pain and said, her voice only a little strained, “Lawdy, but you're strong, young man!”

Then the newcomers were upon them, slipping among the crew and greeting them like old friends. The old man with the banjo shook Spock's hand and, oblivious to the mildly perplexed look on the Vulcan's face, said, “Good to see you, welcome!” The young woman who had accompanied him wrapped her hands around Khan's other arm and said in a warm, suggestive voice, “We're real glad you dropped by.”

Khan stepped away from both women, looking furious.

The older woman, freed from Khan's grip, raised her hands above her head. “Now we can get started!” she cried happily. “You're all invited to the welcoming bee!”

The old man sat down on the porch steps. “Let's have some music!” he cried. He began strumming his banjo, and the holographic people whooped and laughed and began to dance around Kirk, Khan, and the woman dying on the ground.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The surrealism of their surroundings, on top of everything else that had happened in the past few days—in the past week, if Kirk was honest with himself—was too much. He wanted to sit down on the grass with a glass of lemonade and a cookie and forget about his problems. But there was his ship, and his crew, and the woman called Kati. He forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Spock, form the crew into search parties. Have them look for anything that might be a holographic generator; we need to figure out what we're really dealing with here.”

When Spock nodded and turned away, Kirk returned to McCoy and Kati. Khan was there, too, kneeling on the grass with one hand laid gently against the side of her neck. Kirk thought he was feeling her pulse; if she was breathing, Kirk couldn't see it. Kirk turned away from him, irrationally angry. He didn't want to feel sorry for Khan.

“How much time does she have?” he asked McCoy.

“It's difficult to say,” McCoy said. “A few hours at least. If she's as tough as Khan, here, maybe longer. But that's just how long until she dies—if I'm going to successfully revive her, I need to get her to Sickbay long before her time's up.”

“Is there _anything_ you can do?”

“Not with anything I'd find in that farmhouse,” McCoy said grimly. “I could wrap her in blankets or elevate her legs and that would make _me_ feel better, but it wouldn't do _her_ any damn good.”

“The cryotubes were never meant to be used for so long,” Khan said. His voice was quiet, musing; Kirk could barely hear him over the music and chatter of the holographic people. “Even I benefited from medical attention when I was revived. A few hours may be optimistic, Doctor.”

Kirk turned away wordlessly and began walking in a random direction. He didn't have a tricorder to help him search, but he didn't care. He had to do something. If it was Khan lying on the ground, maybe he wouldn't care, but this woman wasn’t Khan. She might be every bit as violent and ruthless as he was, but for Kirk she was innocent until he saw proof to the contrary. She didn't deserve to die like this.

After a moment he heard quiet footsteps in the grass behind him and said over his shoulder, “I thought you would stay with her.”

“There is nothing I can do for her that Doctor McCoy cannot,” Khan answered. “I will help her more by finding a way to return to the _Enterprise_ than by hovering uselessly.”

It was a logical, pragmatic thing to say. Kirk wanted to hate Khan for being cold and uncaring, but he suspected Khan was just as frustrated as he was.

Their hostess wove through the dancers toward them. “Have some nice fresh corn on the cob!” she called. If her arm still hurt, she gave no sign of it as she offered the tray to Kirk and Khan. “Corn on the cob?”

“Can you tell us why we're here?” Kirk demanded.

“Oh, we don't mean you any harm,” the woman said, smiling. “I'm sorry if we've put you out. Why don't you just put your feet up and get comfortable while you wait?”

“Wait?” Khan said quickly. “Wait for what?”

The woman's smile faltered. “Isn't anybody hungry?” she said quickly, and turned away. Khan reached out to stop her, but Kirk caught his hand.

“It won't do any good,” he said.

Khan shook himself free of Kirk's hand, his eyes narrowed angrily. Kirk thought he might argue, but Kirk's communicator chirped. Thankful for the distraction, Kirk flipped it open, though he watched Khan carefully.

“Kirk here.”

“ _Keptin_.” It was Chekov's voice. “ _We've found somzing in ze barn, some kind of—_ ” There was a dull thud and then a clattering noise, as though Chekov's communicator had fallen to the ground.

Kirk snapped his communicator shut and broke into a run. “Come on!” he shouted.

He could hear his people close on his heels. Khan was ahead of him, running faster than any normal human. Kirk sprinted after him, knowing he couldn't catch up but afraid of what Khan might do. They rounded the corner of the house, passed the back porch, and pelted across the lawn toward the big red barn, Khan slowly pulling ahead of Kirk.

Kirk burst into the barn a few paces behind Khan and found himself facing a bizarre tableau. Chekov lay sprawled on the dusty ground, his mouth bloodied and his expression dazed. His attacker was the pretty young woman who had taken Khan’s arm earlier. Although she appeared unarmed, she had Sulu backed against a stack of haybales. Others from the farmhouse were there, too, including their hostess, who no longer looked so grandmotherly. She had exchanged her corn on the cob for a pitchfork and was barring Khan’s path.

Spock, Sh’athylnik, and a handful of  _Enterprise_ crew piled into the barn behind Kirk. The big doors slammed behind them with an ominous creak and Kirk realized all the holographic people were armed with farm implements.

The elderly woman smiled up at Khan, apparently unconcerned by the way he towered over her. “Very well,” she said, in a tone that did not match her cotton print dress and floury apron. “Since no one seems to care for any corn, I guess we’ll have to proceed ahead of schedule.”

The wooden wall behind her began to fade. Blue light seeped between the cracks in the board, and then the boards themselves as the illusory wood disappeared. In its place a corridor stretched an impossibly long distance, the walls honeycombed with alcoves. Each alcove contained a single pallet and an array of unfamiliar sensors and equipment. They were all empty.

Curious, he stepped around the woman for a closer look. Khan drifted after him. The technology was foreign and far more advanced than anything Kirk had ever seen, but he thought he recognized medical monitors, life support systems… he cast an involuntary glance at Khan. It looked like some sort of stasis facility.

He stepped closer for a better look, but a noise behind him made him turn. The holographic people were disappearing one at a time in a haze of blue light. One of his own crew disappeared—and then his own world vanished into darkness.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thank-you to everyone who has favorited/followed/kudoed, and a friendly reminder that while all those things are very much appreciated, reviews are appreciated even more! So far the plot has followed pretty closely that of VOY: Caretaker, which is perhaps a little boring, I promise things will diverge from the expected soon!

For the second time in an hour, Kirk found himself sprawled on the deck of the  _Vengeance_ . This time, the transition from unconsciousness to awareness was quicker. He sat up and scanned the bridge. Carol was nearby, blinking up at the ceiling. Sh’athylnik pushed herself onto her hands and knees, antennae waving wildly. A blinking light on the Comm panel told him their link to the  _Enterprise_ was still open.

“Kirk to _Enterprise_ , is anybody there?”

“ _Yes, Captain_ ,” came Spock's voice, wonderfully calm and familiar.

“How long were we over there?”

A pause. “ _Almost three days, sir._ ”

“ _Three days?_ ” Kirk had thought it was no more than an hour. “What the hell—”

“ _Captain_ ,” Spock interrupted. “ _Ensign Chekov did not return with us. I surmise that he is still on the array_.”

“Is anyone else missing?” Kirk demanded.

“ _Stand by_.”

“Three days,” Carol whispered. She scrambled to her feet. _“Father—_ Marcus to Sickbay.”

“ _Sickbay here_ ,” McCoy said

“Doctor, what is the Admiral’s status?”

“ _Stable. He’s on life support. I’m afraid he’s not likely to regain consciousness anytime soon.”_

“I understand. I was afraid—thank you, Doctor.”

“ _Just doing my job. Is the captain there with you?”_

“I’m here, Bones,” Kirk said. He pretended not to see Carol hastily rub her eyes. “What do you need?”

“ _The woman from the cryotube, Kati—she didn’t return with everyone else. I have no idea where she is.”_

“Chekov didn’t make it back, either. Spock thinks they’re still on the array.”

“ _Jim, we’ve got to get her back right now,”_ McCoy said urgently. _“She hasn’t got much time left.”_

Kirk pictured the pretty, short-haired woman lying so still on the grass. She only had a few hours, McCoy had said. That was three days ago. He wished savagely that that it had been Khan dying in front of that illusory farmhouse, rather than this stranger who had never wronged Kirk or the people he loved. “I don’t think time is an issue for her anymore, Bones.”

“ _What’s that supposed to mean?”_

A thought occurred to him. “I’ll get back to you.” He closed the channel and turned to Sh’athylnik. “You must have known Khan when he was working for Marcus, Commander. What do you think he’ll do when he finds out she’s dead?”

Sh’athylnik’s mouth twisted. “You and I both know exactly what he’ll do, Captain.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. Bridge to Engineering. Scotty, is Engineering secure?”

“ _Secure, aye, but we’ve got a wee problem with the warp—”_

“Good.” He shut down the channel. “Marcus, beam Khan directly from Engineering to the _Enterprise_ brig. Commander,” he continued, without waiting for Carol’s acknowledgment, “I would like to accept your surrender, but I simply don’t have room for you and all of your crew in my brig.”

Sh’athylnik twitched one white eyebrow wryly. “Then it seems we have a problem.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Kirk took a deep breath. “What Admiral Marcus did was wrong, but that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies. We’re a long way from Starfleet Command, but we’re still Starfleet. If you give me your parole, I’m willing to bring you and your people aboard the _Enterprise_ , not as prisoners, but as part of my crew, until we return to Federation space.”

She studied him with her pale eyes, her antennae fixed on him. After a while, she said, “Very well. You have my word.”

* * *

_Enterprise's_ familiar transporter room materialized around Kirk in a shimmer of energy. He stepped off the pad and a wave of exhaustion washed over him. When was the last time he had slept? Or eaten? He couldn't remember. Certainly not since they captured Khan. He counted back, trying to think how long it had been. More than twenty-four hours? He had to have eaten something since then, hadn't he?

Marcus, Scotty, and Sh’athylnik followed him into the turbolift and onto the bridge, where the red-alert lights washed everything in a dim, bloody light. Spock sat in the center chair, as calm and unruffled as ever, but elsewhere he saw signs of the terrible damage  _Enterprise_ had endured. All around the bridge were scorched panels and blown-out conduits; an acrid, burnt smell hung in the air. Sulu and Uhura looked as bad as Kirk felt, and many of the other stations—including Chekov's—were manned by beta-shift officers. McCoy hovered behind Spock's shoulder, looking grim.

“Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, as his first officer rose from the chair, “Please tell me you have something.”

“I do, Captain,” Spock said. “Based on my initial analysis, I am convinced we are dealing with a single entity in the array. I would suggest it scanned our computers in order to select a comfortable holographic environment: in effect, a waiting room to pacify us prior to biometric assessment.”

“An examination?” McCoy said.

“It is the most logical explanation. Why else would he have released us unharmed?”

From the helm, Sulu glanced over his shoulder and said, darkly, “Not all of us were.”

Kirk turned this over in his mind for a moment. A single entity that could transport two ships across the galaxy and create an illusion indistinguishable from reality must have power they couldn't begin to comprehend. The odds against a direct assault were high—but they didn't have a lot of options.

“Put together an away team,” he told Spock. “Armed. We're going back to the array.”

“You intend to lead the team?”

Kirk was already heading back toward the lift. “I do.”

“Sir, it is inadvisable for you to—”

“Save it, Mr. Spock. You have the bridge.”

“Sir!” Sulu was on his feet. “Request permission to join the away team!”

Kirk met Sulu's fierce, earnest gaze and thought of Chekov. “Permission granted. And bring that rapier of yours—we might need it.” He stepped into the lift. “I'll meet you in the transporter room; I have an errand to run before we leave.”

Kirk was surprised to find Sh’athylnik in the lift with him when the doors closed. “Can I help you, Commander?”

She fixed him with a direct stare. “I, too, wish to join the away team.”

“The more the merrier. But that's not why you got in this lift with me.”

“I can see you're more perceptive than you appear, Captain,” she said, so smoothly that Kirk almost missed the insult. “It occurred to me that your 'errand' might be to visit Mr. Harrison.”

The lift slid into motion. “I can see why you're in Intelligence,” Kirk shot back. “So what if I am?”

“Allowing Harrison to join the away team would be a mistake.”

“Commander, I get enough of this from Spock. I don't need it from you, too.”

“Captain, it is the responsibility of the second-in-command to voice concerns—”

“But you're not my second-in-command,” Kirk interrupted. “You're Admiral Marcus's second-in-command, and he's comatose in Sickbay.”

Sh’athylnik's pale eyes narrowed. “And I should voice my concerns to him?”

“No. You should have voiced your concerns _before_ he opened fire on a Federation ship, _my ship_ , filled with hundreds of innocent men and women—” Kirk realized he was shouting and forced himself to lower his voice. “I have just as much reason to trust Khan—Harrison—as I do you, Commander.”

Her antennae swung back in annoyance. “Admiral Marcus tried to use Harrison, too, Captain. I advised him against it, and he wouldn't listen. If you go down to Sickbay you can see for yourself where that got him. Now I'm offering you the same advice: leave Harrison in the brig, where he belongs.”

“He's a person, not a tool to be used,” Kirk snapped. “Maybe if Marcus hadn't forgotten that we wouldn't be in this mess.” The lift stopped and the doors slid open. “I'll see you in the transporter room, Commander.”

He didn't look back when he left the turbolift, and Sh’athylnik didn't follow. He was glad. Yelling at her had felt too good, and he was afraid if he started again he wouldn't stop. Stress had him wound so tight he thought he might snap. It was a bad state of mind to be in when visiting a super-intelligent murderer who had already proven he could wrap Kirk around his finger.

Yet when Kirk walked into the brig, it was clear Khan was in no better state that he. The augment paced the tiny confines of his cell, hands knotted behind his back. When he saw Kirk he stepped up to the glass and glared out at him.

“Where is Kati?” he demanded.

It should have been a relief to see Khan show such open emotion, to see that even if he was superhuman he was still  _human_ . Yet, as when Khan had told the story of his true past and his history with Marcus, it was impossible for Kirk to feel any pleasure at the other man’s distress. The more Khan revealed of himself, the easier it was for Kirk to draw comparisons between them. He wished Khan would act like the killer he knew Khan to be; it would make it easier to hate him.

“She's not on the _Enterprise,_ ” Kirk said. “We believe she and Ensign Chekov are still on the array—and have been since we were transported there, three days ago.”

Khan’s face remained still and unmoving as Kirk’s words sank in. Then, without warning, he slammed his fist into the glass. Kirk jumped. An alarm went off on a nearby panel, and Kirk signaled one of the security officers to shut it off. In the silence that followed, Khan turned away, giving Kirk his back and a view of his tightly clenched fists.

“There's a chance she's still alive,” Kirk said quietly. “Whoever—or whatever—brought us to the array did it for a reason. That reason may include keeping Kati and Chekov alive.”

Khan didn't turn around. Kirk wondered why he bothered offering comfort to this man, this monster who had murdered Admiral Pike.

“A chance,” Khan said flatly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“That's what I'm offering you,” Kirk said. “A chance to help rescue your crewmember, if we can. Not because I need your help—I don't. But because I...” he trailed off, unsure how to describe his motives, or the tangle of emotions that filled him. “Because I think it's the right thing to do.”

At this, Khan finally turned to face the glass. His expression was unreadable. “Very well. Let's go.”

“Not so fast,” Kirk said. “I need some guarantees. First, that you'll follow my orders _to the letter_ once you're out of this cell. Second, once we're done on the array, that you'll return to this cell without causing any trouble—regardless of what we find there.”

Khan's lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “What sort of guarantees would you like, Captain?”

That was catch, wasn't it? He had seen Khan take out an entire squad of Klingon soldiers. Security officers, manacles—none of these could ensure Khan's cooperation if Khan didn't want to cooperate.

“How about,” Kirk said, “we start with your word?”

“My word?” Khan repeated. “Is my word worth that much to you?”

“Why don't we find out how much your word is worth.”

Khan studied him through the glass. Kirk met the other man's dark eyes steadily, refusing to blink first. Whatever Khan was thinking, his face revealed nothing.

“You have my word,” he said finally.

 

Everyone in the Transporter Room turned to stare as Kirk walked through the doors: two security officers in red uniforms, Sulu in gold, Sh’athylnik in black. Khan, also in black, loomed behind Kirk like a thundercloud.  _Thunderous_ was a good way to describe Sh’athylnik’s expression; the others' ranged from shocked to horrified.

“Our plan is to return to the array and find our missing people,” Kirk said, ignoring their dismay. “We're going armed, but no one is to offer hostility unless absolutely necessary. I don't won't to antagonize this... entity... if I don't have to.”

“This _entity_ has antagonized _us_ ,” Sh’athylnik said, rubbing her fingers along the hilt of a crescent-shaped knife sheathed at her hip. “Why shouldn't we return the favor?”

“Because it may be our only ticket home,” Kirk said. “That is _not_ a bridge I want to burn. Once we're on the array, we'll spread out in pairs: Sh’athylnik and Sulu, Hendorff and López. Khan, you're with me. If you find anything that might help us get back, good, but remember—Chekov and Kati are our first priority. Any questions?”

Sh’athylnik’s eyes flicked over Kirk's shoulder. “Why—”

“Any questions _not_ regarding Mr. Harrison.”

No one spoke. After everyone took their places on the transporter pad, Kirk nodded to the ensign at the controls and everything disappeared in a shimmer of light.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Everything was the same: the sunny afternoon, the drowsy heat, the farmhouse. Even the horses were there, grazing peacefully in the green grass. Only the people were gone.

Khan led the way through their search area with a tricorder held before him. Kirk followed several steps behind with his phaser drawn, wary of both Khan the peaceful-looking farm. If Khan disliked this arrangement, he said nothing of it; the two men worked in tense silence.

After a fruitless examination of the barn, they emerged into blinding sunshine. Kirk raised his hand to shield his eyes and squinted at the horizon. It was just the right distance—not too close or too far, as so many planets’ were—and almost perfectly flat. He felt a wave of homesickness for Iowa.

“It’s marvelous, is it not?” Khan had plucked a blade of grass from the ground and was running it through his fingers. “It feels so real.”

“I wonder how far it extends,” Kirk said, without thinking. “If you started walking—” he broke off.

“Would you reach another farm, a road, a town?” Khan finished. “One wonders, indeed.”

Kirk lowered his hand, angry with himself for being caught in a moment of camaraderie with Khan. “The others are waiting. There’s nothing here for us to find.”

They found the other four members of the away team in front of the farmhouse. One look at their faces told Kirk their search had been no more successful than his own.

“We found no trace of humanoid lifeforms anywhere on the array,” Sh’athylnik said. “Wherever Chekov and Kati are, they're somewhere our tricorders can’t sense them.”

Khan turned his head sharply. Kirk heard it a moment later: soft, nearly obscured by Sh’athylnik's voice: the twang of a banjo. He followed Khan's gaze and saw the old man from the welcoming bee on a bench beneath the trees, strumming the instrument cradled in his lap.

Khan was already striding across the lawn. Kirk hurried after him, and the others trailed behind. The old man continued to pluck out a wistful tune as the approached, unconcerned or unaware of their presence. He looked up when Khan stopped in front of him.

“Why have you come back?” the old man said querulously. “You don't have what I need.”

“I don't know what you need, and I don't care,” Khan said coldly. “You will return the people you abducted from us and send us home immediately.”

Kirk said, warningly, “Khan.”

They locked eyes, and after a moment Khan stepped back. Kirk let out a sigh of relief.

“Well now,” the old man chuckled, oblivious to their byplay. “Aren't you contentious for a minor bipedal species!”

This one was different, Kirk realized. The old man was more than just a hologram run by a sophisticated computer system. He was real, sentient. This was the entity that had transported them across halfway across the galaxy.

Kirk didn’t bother to hide his anger. “We may be a 'minor bipedal species,' but we are sentient beings. That means we have rights—rights you have violated. Your actions have resulted in the deaths of several of our number, and you still hold two of us captive. ”

The old man waved his hand dismissively. “It was necessary.”

“ _Where are our people?”_

They were surrounding him now: Sulu, Hendorff, and López behind arrayed behind him, Kirk, Khan, and Sh’athylnik looming in front. Except Khan, they were all armed, but the old man merely looked annoyed.

“They are no longer here!” he grumbled.

Sh’athylnik knelt on the grass and stared up into his face. It did not make her look like a petitioner begging; it made her look like a predator preparing to spring. “What have you done to them?” she demanded.

“You don't have what I need!” the old man repeated, agitated. “ _They might_. No—you'll have to leave.”

“We won't do that,” she said flatly.

It was strange, Kirk reflected, that she should be so adamant in her defense of Kati and Chekov when, not so long ago, she had assisted Marcus in holding one hostage and stood by while he opened fire on the other. Or perhaps it was not so strange, after all. Andorians were known for their discipline and sense of honor. Perhaps she saw nothing inconsistent in following Marcus’s orders even though she believed them to be wrong, and now following Kirk’s orders even though they had recently been enemies.

He remembered his boast to Pike, what seemed like a lifetime ago,  _“You know how many crew members I’ve lost since I took command? Not one.”_ And standing on the bridge of the Enterprise, pleading with Marcus:  _“My crew was just following orders. I take full responsibility… all I ask is that you spare them.”_ He tried to put what he had felt, in that moment, into words this being could understand.

“We are their commanding officers, we are entrusted with their safety. They are our responsibility.” He remembered, too, that however human this entity currently appeared, that appearance was nothing but an illusion disguising an alien reality. He finished bitterly, “Perhaps you can’t understand that.”

It wasn’t until he saw Khan’s sideways look that he realized he had spoken for them both. If the old man noticed Kirk’s sudden discomfort, he gave no sign.

“Oh, no,” he assured him earnestly. “I do understand. But I have no choice. There is just not enough time left!”

“Left for what?” Kirk demanded, frustrated.

“I must honor a debt that can never be repaid... but my search has not been going well.”

There was an opening there, something they could use. Kirk glanced over to see what Spock's opinion was—but of course, Spock wasn't there. Instead, he found himself looking into Khan’s dark eyes. Underneath the now-familiar cold anger was a speculative expression, and he gave Kirk a slight nod. Kirk opened his mouth to tell Khan he didn’t need the approval of a murderer—and closed it again. They couldn’t afford to show dissent now, and if Kirk didn’t think Khan deserved some say in decisions that affected Kati, he should have left the augment in the brig.

Besides, he would have done it anyway.

“Tell us what you’re looking for,” he said to the old man. “Maybe we can help you find it.”

“You?” the entity scoffed. “I've searched the galaxy with methods beyond your comprehension. No, there's nothing you can do.”

“You've taken us seven thousand light years from our home,” Kirk said. He was running out of arguments, and he didn't know what he would do when words failed to persuade. Attack a being that could move two starships across the galaxy? Give up? “We have no way back unless you send us, and we won't leave without our people.”

“But sending you back is terribly complicated. Don't you understand?” the man demanded. “I don't have time! _Not enough time!_ ”

The old man flung out his arm. There was no time to react; before Kirk could move to attack or defend, a great upwelling of light washed over them. When it subsided, Kirk found himself and the others back on the bridge of  _Enterprise,_ Spock sitting in the center chair and McCoy leaning over his shoulder. There was a moment of stunned silence, then the bridge erupted into chaos. Spock demanded an explanation, McCoy shouted in alarm, Sulu hurried to reclaim his station, and the two security officers edged closer to Khan, their hands on their phasers.

Kirk ignored it all. His eyes were fixed on the viewscreen, which still showed the entity’s array. Pulses of energy continued to shoot from its base, as steady as the pendulum on an old-fashioned clock.

_Tick—tick—tick._

_Not enough time._

Kirk knew where to look next.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update last week! I came down with a bug while simultaneously trying to finish a major project. Here's your chappie :)

Pavel Chekov's first thought, as he forced his bleary eyes open, was that he must be in Sickbay. The pale ceiling and walls, the narrow bed... but the room was a little too bright, the bed a little too soft.

A woman leaned over him. At first Chekov thought she was human, but her ears tapered to delicate points beneath the fine cloth draped around her head. Not human, but not Vulcan, either.

_He's regaining consciousness_ , the woman said. Her lips didn't move when she spoke.

A man, apparently of the same species, joined the woman and smiled gently down at him.  _How do you feel?_ he asked.

Telepaths were rare, but Chekov found it difficult to feel surprised. Everything seemed distant and out of focus. He struggled to sit up, and found it harder than it should have been. “What am I doing here?” he asked. “Where am I?”

The small, too-bright room was bare except for another bed like the one Chekov sat on. An unfamiliar human woman with short black hair lay there, her eyes closed and her beautiful face peaceful. Like Chekov, she wore a plain white robe belted at the waist. The room had only one door, and it was closed.

The alien woman laid her hands on his shoulders, gently restraining him. “Please don't try to move yet,” she said aloud. “You're very ill.”

“Ill?” Chekov repeated. “No, I'm not ill. There must be some kind of mistake—”

He raised his hands to brush off hers and caught sight of something on his hand. Carefully, he pulled back his sleeve and found an ugly swelling, oozing pus, growing on the back of his hand. A frantic survey of his arms and chest revealed more growths.

“Where is Khan?”

All three of them slewed around to look at the black-haired woman, who was sitting up and no longer looked very peaceful. Above the neck of her robe, Chekov could see sores like his own.

The alien woman advanced slowly, as though trying to soothe a wild animal. “Please calm down,” she said. “I know this must be very frightening for you—”

“ _Where is he?_ ”

The woman cast a quick, questioning look at Chekov. When he gave her no response, she said, “I'm sorry, I don't know where the rest of your people are.”

The dark-haired stranger jumped off the bed and ran to the doors. She jammed her fingers into the crack and strained. To his amazement, Chekov thought he saw the opening widen slightly. Before she could pry the panels open, the alien man ran to her and caught her shoulder. She whirled and sank her fist into his stomach and then, when he doubled over, brought her joined hands down between his shoulder blades. He dropped to the floor.

The alien woman rushed to a panel in the wall and pressed it. An alarm sounded somewhere, and the door hissed open to reveal two more aliens, both wearing headcloths. They grabbed the human by the forearms and attempted to wrestle her back into the room, but she was clearly stronger and more skilled in physical combat than they.

Just when it seemed she would break free, she caught sight of herself in a reflective panel on the other side of the room. Distracted by the sight of the grotesque growths, she dropped her guard for a moment and the alien man, who had picked himself up off the floor, came up behind her and pressed a small device against the side of her neck. Immediately, she crumpled to the ground.

As the four aliens lifted the woman gently onto the bed, Chekov wondered if he should have helped her, or if he should slip out the still-open door. Neither seemed important. The whole ordeal—the room, the aliens, the woman—seemed as unreal as a dream. He lay back on his own bed, comforted by its softness, and stared up at the white, white ceiling.

The aliens left him in the too-bright room with the strange, unconscious woman, and closed the doors behind them.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_Captain's Log, Stardate 2259.56_

_We've traced the energy pulses from the array to the fifth planet in the system and believe they may have been used in some fashion to transport Chekov and Kati to the planet surface—_

The door chimed. Kirk switched off the recorder and tapped his fingers irritably against the surface of his desk. “Come in.”

McCoy stepped through the door, carrying a tray with a sandwich, a glass of milk, and a padd. “It occurred to me,” he said, as he set the tray in front of Kirk—giving himself, Kirk noticed with some amusement, a good view of Kirk's computer screen—“that it's probably been a while since you had something to eat.”

“Don't you usually leave deliveries to the yeoman?” Kirk asked, picking up the sandwich. Ham and swiss. Not his favorite, but he was too hungry to be choosy.

“Don't you usually record logs on the bridge?” McCoy countered. He sat in a chair without waiting for an invitation.

Kirk put the sandwich down untouched. “What's that got to do with anything?” he demanded.

“Only that if there was something in those logs you didn't want the crew to hear, there might still be something you wanted your doctor to hear.”

Kirk picked up the sandwich again and took a big bite. “Well, there isn't,” he mumbled.

McCoy watched him chew, and Kirk resisted the urge to squirm. “Okay,” McCoy said finally. “Once you finish that sandwich, you should get some sleep. You won't be any use to us as tired as you are.”

Kirk swallowed with difficulty and said, “I'm fine, Bones.”

“No, you're not, but I don't expect you to admit that.” He nudged the padd toward Kirk. “This ought to put you to sleep. You asked me to do psych evals on the _Vengenace_ crew: these are the preliminary results.”

Kirk didn't bother to pick up the padd. “That was fast. How do they look?”

“Boring, mostly.” When Kirk raised his eyebrows in doubt, McCoy shrugged. “Most of 'em weren't picked for their brains. Oh, they're smart enough—most of 'em got top marks at the Academy. But they've got no imagination, no initiative. They follow their commanding officer, they do what they're told. There's a few exceptions, of course, but I don't think Admiral Marcus wanted anyone around who might question the moral or legal legitimacy of their mission.”

“How _is_ the admiral?”

“No worse—and that's the good news. The brain damage is just too severe, Jim. There are few more tricks I can try, but I don't think he's ever going to wake up.”

Kirk put the sandwich back down, his appetite suddenly gone. “Damn. Poor Carol.”

McCoy cocked his head. “Not 'poor Marcus'?”

“ _I_ don't need psychoanalyzing, Bones,” Kirk said. “He tried to kill a lot of innocent people—including you. I'm not happy about what happened to him, but I'm not shedding any tears, either.”

“Hmph,” McCoy said again. “Well, there's one eval on there you might find interesting. Check under 'H'.”

Kirk turned on the screen and scrolled through the names, feeling sure what he would find. Between Hardwell, Lillian and Hernandez, Ricardo was Harrison, John.

Kirk looked up at McCoy. “You  _talked_ to him?”

Khan had consented with suspicious meekness to return to the brig, though not before making it clear he wanted to talk to Kirk about their arrangement. Kirk had said they would speak when he had the time, and then worked hard to make sue he  _didn't_ have the time. It hadn't occurred to him that he might need to keep other people from talking to Khan, as well.

“You wanted psych evals for the potential new additions to our crew,” McCoy said, with an unconvincing show of innocence. “If you're going to keep inviting him on away missions....”

“I asked for psych evals for the crew of the _Vengeance_ ,” Kirk said. “Which Khan is most decidedly not.” He debated yelling at McCoy, then decided it wouldn't do any good. Reluctantly, he asked, “What do you think?”

“We-el,” McCoy said slowly, “let's see....” He ticked off the points as he went. “He's a natural leader who's always excelled at whatever he set his mind or hand to. He's got a problem with authority and thinks rules were written for other people. He's no coward—you could even say he's reckless. He feels a strong sense of responsibility and a desire to right what he sees as injustices. He's extremely loyal.” McCoy spread his hands in a gesture of bemusement. “Despite his genetically engineered superpowers, he does show respect for ordinary people, so long as they exhibit traits he finds admirable—especially loyalty, courage, and intelligence.”

Kirk shifted in his seat. “When you put it like that, he sounds like a great person.”

“When I put it like that,” McCoy said bluntly, “he sounds like _you_.”

It was a reality Kirk had been trying very hard to ignore for a while. “Last time I checked, I'm not genetically engineered,” he began.

“No, but you're well above average in intelligence and physical fitness. As for the rest—”

“I'm not a murderer!”

“He doesn't see himself that way,” McCoy said quietly. “He considers his actions to be those of wartime.”

Kirk's voice rose to shout. “Then he's a psychopath! Bones, what are you trying to say? That I'm the same? That he was right to murder Admiral Pike and all those others?”

“You know damn well that's not what I'm saying—or you would, anyway, if you weren't so close you can't see straight.”

“Close to what?” Kirk demanded.

“Everything!” McCoy waved his hands. “Pike, Marcus, Khan—take your pick. You're too emotionally involved to think clearly about Khan and what he has and hasn't done.”

“Now you sound like Spock.”

“There's no call to be insulting,” McCoy said.

Despite himself, Kirk smiled a little. Some of the tension left the room.

“So what should I do about him, then?” Kirk asked eventually. “Khan, I mean.”

McCoy shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know. The safest thing would be to lock him up and throw away the key. There are some not-so-nice traits down there in the psych eval, too.”

“Can I trust him?”

“To do what?” McCoy countered. “Look after his own interests?” When Kirk gave him a pointed look, he shrugged again. “For now, yes. He's most concerned about keeping his people safe, and as long as we don't do anything to threaten them he'll play nice. But he’ll be planning two moves ahead, for when we get back to Earth.”

“ _When_ , not _if_. You think we'll make it back, then?”

“I think _you'll_ get us back. And I'm not the only one who thinks that.”

Kirk smiled weakly, both warmed and overwhelmed by the trust and confidence his friends and crew had in him. Somehow, someway, he would have to find a way to get them home. No matter what.

“Eat your sandwich,” McCoy said, standing. “And then get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir!” Kirk said.

“Smart ass,” McCoy said, and left.

Kirk ate his sandwich, and was debating the relative merits of a nap versus a strong cup of coffee when the call came from the Bridge.

“ _Captain, we've encountered a debris field. Our sensors detect a small vessel with a two humanoid life-forms on board._ ”

“I'll be right out.” Kirk drained the last of his milk, swiped his sleeve across his lip to erase any milk mustache—noting as he did that if he didn't shave soon he would start growing a real mustache—and hurried down the short corridor connecting his office to the Bridge.

Spock rose from the center chair and stepped to the right as Kirk came down the step to the left—a well-rehearsed dance they had performed many times—but Kirk remained standing, his eyes on the viewscreen. The debris field filled the screen: hundreds of shattered pieces of starships, all slowly spinning as their momentum moved them through frictionless, 0-G space. Alone among all the randomly moving fragments, a single small ship remained motionless.

“Hail them,” Kirk said.

Uhura's fingers moved across her board. “I've got a visual, Captain.”

“Put it onscreen.”

The image changed suddenly to show a dim, cramped room, which Kirk presumed was the bridge. He could make out a chair and what might be a control station on an upper level. A ladder and a single door appeared to lead to the rest of the ship. There was no one in sight.

Kirk glanced over his shoulder to see what Spock thought, but the Vulcan only raised one eyebrow enigmatically. Apparently he was just as puzzled as Kirk.

Through the comm feed, he heard the sound of boots on metal decking, and something appeared at the top of the ladder. Kirk stared, trying to figure out what kind of bizarre alien it might be, and finally realized it was merely a humanoid descending the ladder head-first, like a cat climbing down a tree.

The figure flipped itself right-way-up and jumped the railing separating the upper and lower levels, landing neatly beside the chair. It leaned forward and smiled nervously into the vid receiver. Without thinking, Kirk smiled back. “It” was a beautiful young woman—or female-analogue, at any rate—with lavender skin and crown of curling white-gold hair that did not quite hide the elegantly pointed tips of her ears. Kirk caught a glimpse of a supple tail flick past her shoulder.

She said something that to Kirk’s ears was nothing but a string of nonsense. Her voice was light and sweet; her expression was, he thought, nervous.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he said. He glanced at Uhura. “Lieutenant?”

“I’m working on it, sir,” she said, already bent over her console. “The Universal Translator needs a certain amount of material to work with. Just… keep her talking.”

The woman spoke again. It still sounded like nonsense, but a different kind of nonsense. “No, no,” Kirk said. “Stick with one language, it’ll go faster.” He smiled in a way he hoped she would interpret as friendly—smiles could be a little risky with some aliens. “We’ll have this straightened out in a minute.”

She switched back to the first language she had used. “Got it,” Uhura said, and in mid-sentence the woman’s words became intelligble.

“—don’t have anything worth stealing, so if you’re looking for trouble you should just keep going.”

“Believe me, we’re not looking for trouble,” Kirk said. “Unfortunately, trouble has recently found us.”

“Oh, you can understand me now,” the alien woman said. “I’m so sorry to hear you’re in trouble.” She sounded genuinely distressed.

Kirk smiled again. He couldn’t help it; she was so—there was no other way to describe her—cute. “Thank you for your concern…”

“Trance. My name is Trance. And since you’re not interested in causing trouble, I’m delighted to meet you…”

“Captain James Kirk, of the Federation starship _Enterprise_.”

Her eyes widened a little. “How impressive! I have no idea what that means, but it sounds really important.”

Suspecting he was being mocked, Kirk studied her closely, but her eyes remained steady and her expression innocent. Too innocent? It was impossible to tell; he didn’t know her well enough to read her alien body language. He decided it didn’t matter. After pleading with Marcus and bargaining with Khan, his pride was already in tatters.

“Do you know this area of space well, Ms. Trance?” he asked.

“Just Trance,” she corrected. “I know it well enough. Why, is there some way I can help you?”

“Do you know anything about the array that’s sending energy pulses to the fifth planet?”

“I know enough to stay away,” she said, and then— “Oh, you’re _another_ one. Let me guess, you were whisked away from somewhere else in the galaxy and brought here against your will.”

Out of sight of the vid pickup, Sulu exchanged a look with Chekov's beta-shift replacement, Ensign Tellammea. “I take it you've heard this story before,” Kirk said.

“Unfortunately. The Caretaker has been bringing ships here for months, now.”

“The Caretaker?”

“That's what the Ocampa call him. They live on the fifth planet.” Trance hesitated. “Did he kidnap someone from your crew?”

“As a matter of fact, he did.” Clearly this, too, was a story she had heard before. “Do you know where he might have taken them?”

She shrugged. “Only that they’re brought to the Ocampa.”

Kirk paced closer to the vid pickup, trying to convey the urgency he felt, but not the desperation. “Trance, we would appreciate any help you can give us in finding these Ocampa.”

Her eyes slid away. “I… I don’t know. I’d love to help, I really would, but we’re a little busy at the moment.”

It was the first time she had indicated there was another person aboard her ship. Kirk wondered if the previous omission had been merely an oversight, or deliberate. He was beginning to doubt she was quite as innocent as she seemed.

“We would, of course, compensate you for your trouble,” Kirk offered.

“Oh, there’s very little you could offer us,” she said. “Unless…”

Kirk’s heart sank. He could already hear Spock, reminding him of the Prime Directive. “Yes?”

“…unless you had… water?”

Water? He felt almost giddy with relief. Water he could give her. “If you help us find our missing crewmembers, you can have all the water you want.”

She blinked. “I—well, that sounds very reasonable. Just give me a moment to talk to my friend.”

“Of course.”

Trance's image vanished suddenly, replaced with a view of her ship and the surrounding debris field. Kirk turned to Spock. “Thoughts?”

“A local guide could prove most useful, Captain,” Spock said. “However, we must exercise caution when dealing with these people. We are unfamiliar with the species of this region of space and could inadvertently violate the Prime Directive.”

Kirk just managed not to roll his eyes. On the other side of the Bridge, Uhura turned away from her station. “Following the rules is not more important than saving a life,” she said sharply.

“On the contrary, Lieutenant: Starfleet places the Prime Directive above all other imperatives.”

“Starfleet isn't here,” Uhura said. “We are.”

“But we are Starfleet,” Spock countered. “Therefore, Starfleet is here, as well.”

A light went off at Uhura's station before she could respond. “The alien vessel is hailing us, captain.”

“Put her onscreen.”

Trance reappeared, smiling again. “The Reverend and I are ready when you are, captain.”

“Good. We’ll beam the two of you aboard and tow your ship into our shuttle bay.”

“ ‘Beam’?” she echoed.

“We have a technology that can transport you instantly from your ship to ours,” he explained, wondering. No transporters, and no replicators, or else they wouldn’t need to trade for water. Perhaps Spock was right to recommend caution. “It’s completely harmless.”

“If you say so,” she said doubtfully. She glanced around, as though expecting to see the transporter materialize aboard her ship. “Beam away.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update! Unfortunately, real life got in the way of more important things, like writing fanfics. The next update will also likely be late, as I will be out of town for a while. As always, thanks so much for reviews, kudoes, etc.!

The sights that greeted McCoy on his way to the transporter room were troubling. The damage to the ship was bad enough—blown-out conduits, sealed-off corridors, scorched panels—but worse was the damage to the people. He had spent the last few hours—more than a few, now—dealing with the physical wounds. That was easy enough to fix, in its own way. More troubling were the mental wounds. Everywhere he looked he saw flattened spines, ruffled fur, wide eyes. The crew knew they were a long way from home, with no sure way of getting back. They were overworked and understaffed, and while the Vengeance crew were a welcome addition of helping hands, McCoy knew no one really trusted them. Perhaps, more than any of the many shocks that had been administered to the Enterprise crew, the most unsettling was being attacked by one of their own.  
  
None of that, of course, was reflected in the impassive face of the half-Vulcan waiting for him in the transporter room, hands clasped behind his back. The room seemed smaller than usual due to the Mizarthu ensign, whose name McCoy couldn’t remember, crammed behind the control console. McCoy stepped up beside Spock and mirrored the other man’s pose in gentle mockery.  
  
“Ready to meet our native guides?” he asked.  
  
“I am adequately prepared to meet our guests, yes,” Spock said. He nodded to the ensign. “Energize.”  
  
The ensign tapped delicately at the panel before her with one long, curving claw. Two shimmering points of light appeared on the transporter pad and resolved themselves into a pair of humanoid shapes.  
  
They were a study in contrasts. One was the slender, purple-skinned female Kirk had described to him. McCoy immediately understood why his friend had called her “cute.” She wore a colorful off-the-shoulder leotard that left her lavender midriff bare and did absolutely nothing to hide her plentiful curves. McCoy predicted trouble. Kirk always managed to get into trouble around beautiful women.  
  
The other could not be more different. He—if it was a he—was stocky, covered in a coarse brown pelt and loose rust-colored robe that together concealed any of the familiar indicators of sex, though if pressed, McCoy would guess he was male. His robe might conceal weapons as well, but McCoy suspected the claws he bore on each three-fingered hand rendered most weapons unnecessary. His face reminded McCoy of one of the homelier bat species of Earth: dark and leathery-skinned, dominated by a large, splayed nose, framed by tall ears, supported by a mouth filled with needle-like teeth. He knew it was foolish to judge alien species by Human aesthetics, but the first word that came to mind was “hideous.”   
  
The second was “predator.”  
  
The purple female stepped off the transporter pad and walked—bounced, almost—toward Spock, smiling broadly. Her companion followed slowly, staring around the room with open curiosity.  
  
“Welcome aboard the Enterprise,” Spock said. “I am Commander Spock, the ship's first officer. This is Doctor McCoy, the Chief Medical Officer.”  
  
“Trance Gemini,” she said. Her voice was light, almost girlish. “And this Reverend Behemial Far-Traveller—Rev Bem for short.”  
  
The bat-faced one bowed slightly from the waist. “That is a truly marvelous technology,” he said in a low, rough voice. “The Federation is clearly an advanced culture.”  
  
“The Federation is made of many cultures,” McCoy corrected him. If these two were going to spend any amount of time on the Enterprise, they may as well get that straight right off the bat. “For example, I'm Human.” He jerked his thumb at Spock. “And he's Vulcan. Or half-Vulcan, anyhow. The ensign over there is Mizrathu.”  
  
The ensign raised her spines in a friendly greeting that inadvertently made her look every bit the predator she was. Trance smiled nervously, but Rev Bem skinned his lips back from his teeth in an expression that looked more like a snarl—more confirmation, if McCoy needed it, that his species was not generally a peaceful one.  
  
Trance looked between Spock, McCoy, and the ensign. “And all these species coexist peacefully?”  
  
McCoy couldn’t help but chuckle. “I won't say we don't have our disagreements and misunderstandings,” he said. “But yes, on the whole, we get along quite well.”  
  
“The United Federation of Planets is a coalition of planetary governments,” Spock added, sounding, as usual, as if he'd swallowed a data chip, “unified by the principles of freedom and self-determination.”  
  
Rev Bem and Trance exchanged a glance. “Like the old stories,” Rev Bem rumbled.  
  
“The old stories?” McCoy asked.  
  
Rev Bem gestured dismissively with one clawed hand. “Nothing. Only children's tales.”  
  
“Hm.” McCoy eyed him, trying to read his alien features without much success. Was that an evasion? “I like an old yarn as much as the next man. Maybe you could share some of those tales with me later.”  
  
“It would be a pleasure to exchange stories from our distant corners of space,” Rev Bem said, with another half-bow.  
  
“Perhaps,” Spock said, “you would like to see your quarters, first?”  
  
They ushered their charges out of the transporter room and down the Enterprise’s spacious corridors. McCoy had never thought of the ship’s interior as being particularly spacious before—true, it was less claustrophobic than most spaceships he’d had the misfortune of being aboard, but in his opinion that wasn’t saying much—yet after a few minutes around Trance Gemini he found he had to revise his opinion. She pronounced the corridors spacious, the rooms they passed through airy, the design of the computer interfaces elegant. It was refreshing to see the Enterprise through her fresh, enthusiastic eyes, and McCoy found himself making excuses to show her different parts of the ship, turning what was supposed to be a simple escort into a grand tour. Reverend Behemial was equally interested, though less demonstrative, and seemed especially fascinated by the myriad species who passed them, all wearing some variety of Starfleet uniform, as their physiology permitted.  
  
“Is this wise, Doctor?” Spock asked in an undertone, as Trance and Behemial admired the view from the wide windows of the Officer’s Lounge.  
  
“What are you talking about?” McCoy demanded. The lounge was almost deserted. A single exhausted-looking lieutenant sat at a table in a corner, hunched over a padd and a cold cup of coffee.  
  
“I am not sure it is advisable to allow our guests such extensive knowledge of our technology and capabilities. They are, after all, complete unknowns.”  
  
McCoy made a noise of derision. “Do you think they’re a threat to the safety of the ship? Look at them! They’re friendly. They’re harmless. And their technology is obviously light-years behind ours.”  
  
“That is precisely what concerns me, Doctor. We are at great risk of violating the Prime Directive—”  
  
“Don’t let Uhura catch you talking about the Prime Directive,” McCoy muttered.  
  
“—of violating the Prime Directive,” Spock repeated, doggedly, “by our mere presence in this quadrant.” He paused. “And I will thank you to leave Lieutenant Uhura out of this conversation.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” McCoy grumbled. “Say you’re right. Say we shouldn’t blindly trust a pair of galactic hitchhikers. What then? We don’t exactly have a lot of friends in this neighborhood, Spock. We have to trust someone.”  
  
“I am only advising caution—”  
  
Spock broke off as Behemial rejoined them. “The size of you ship is truly astonishing,” he said in his rough voice. “I feel as though I am walking through a flying city.”  
  
McCoy pounced on this opening. “Where are my manners?” he said. “We’ve been walking you all over the place and not offered you any refreshment. As long as we’re in the lounge, why don’t we sit down and have something to drink?”  
  
In McCoy’s experience, the best way to get someone to relax and open up was over a good meal and a drink. And while plying strange alien physiologies with Terran liquor probably wasn’t the medically responsible thing to do, half the equation wouldn’t do any harm, and might get them some information about their guests.  
  
“That would be appreciated,” Behemial said gravely. “Thank you.”  
  
McCoy showed them how to use the replicators, which produced more exclamations of admiration. Under Spock’s mildly disapproving eye, he helped Trance sort through the dozens of food cards as she tried to decide which of the novel dishes she wanted to try. Eventually she settled on a bowl of chocolate ice cream, which McCoy didn’t have the heart to tell her wasn’t usually served on an occasion like this. Behemial, on the other hand, politely declined the offer of food and accepted only a glass of water. Carrying their trays, the four of them settled at a table beside one of the wide windows.  
  
“Our scans of the area indicate there aren’t a lot of people out here,” McCoy said, by way of an opening move.  
  
“There is little water in this region of space,” Behemial said. He gestured with his water glass, clutched carefully in one clawed hand. “Not all of us have the ability to make water out of thin air, so settlements are scarce.”  
  
A desert in space. As if there weren’t enough reasons to hate space travel already. “Then what brings you all the way to the middle of nowhere, Reverend?”  
  
“Rev Bem, please,” Behemial said. “It is my faith that brings me. I seek to bring the Way to the people living here, to open their eyes to the love of the Divine.”  
  
McCoy swallowed a spoonful of tomato soup—noting that, as usual, the replicator hadn’t gotten it quite right—and eyed Behemial cautiously. It sounded like the sort of thing a crazy religious zealous might say, but Behemial didn’t sound crazy or overzealous. He sounded sincere and thoughtful. McCoy would have liked to know about this religion, but Spock, pragmatic as ever, cut in.  
  
“Were you assigned this region of space by a religious leader?”  
  
Not the most subtle fishing lure, McCoy thought, but Behemial didn’t seem to mind. “No,” he said. “My order is rather decentralized. I choose where I go—though in this case, it was Trance who picked out destination.”  
  
Trance, who had been buried in her bowl of ice cream, looked up at the sound of her name. There was a smear of chocolate over her lip. “What? Sorry, this is just so good!”  
  
“You don’t strike me as the religious type,” McCoy said. Though, what did he know? Perhaps religions in this part of the galaxy were more amenable to scantily-clad women than those on Earth.  
  
“Oh, I’m not,” Trance assured him. “Not that I don’t like the Way. I agree completely with it’s principles. Like you said, I’m just not the religious type. I’m just along for the ride.”  
  
“And for choosing the destination of missionary expeditions, apparently.”  
  
“Trance has a knack for… choosing things that turn out well,” Behemial said.  
  
Trance smiled shyly and scraped the last of the ice cream out of her bowl. “I guess I’m just lucky.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with another slow update! Hopefully they will be more prompt in the coming weeks. I'm glad to see the last chapter brought a few Andromeda fans out of the woodwork. I love that show, and I feel it never garnered the attention it deserved. I mean, it's basically a post-apocalyptic Star Trek. What's not to love?
> 
> btw, Kati Tormis is partially named after Veljo Tormis, an Estonian choral composer I really like.

Time passed. Chekov didn't know how long he lay on the bed, staring up at the white, white ceiling, only that eventually he became aware that he was lying on a bed and staring at a ceiling, and that this was a very strange thing for him to be doing. He sat up carefully. Nothing seemed wrong with him aside from the sores that covered his arms and chest, but his whole body felt fragile and weak.

On the other bed, the dark-haired woman lay very still. Chekov called to her, then cautiously shook her shoulder, but she didn't stir. He pressed his fingers against the inside of her wrist and was relieved to feel her pulse beat strong and sure against his skin. Her face wasn't familiar. He supposed she must be one of the Vengenace crew.

The room proved to be no more responsive than his unconscious companion. The panels, although clearly part of some kind of computer system, did not respond to his touch, and the door refused to open. There were no tools, no access panels, no conduits—nothing he could use to escape or find out where he was or what had happened to the rest of his crew. 

Eventually, he returned to his bed and sat, swinging his legs idly and trying to work out how long he had been gone by how hungry he was. There was a steady pulsing noise that filled the room, though it seemed to come from a great distance away. He wondered if it was some kind of machinery, or perhaps a method of marking time.

The woman woke all at once, tensing and sitting up in one movement. When she saw Chekov she rolled off the bed with her fists raised aggressively. Chekov, who had been expecting something like this, lifted his hands and showed her his palms.

“Easy! Easy!” he said.

She stopped, but still eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“My name is Chekov,” he told her. “Pavel Chekov. I am an ensign on the starship Enterprise.”

“Starship...” she repeated. Her eyes swept over him, then the bed, the computer panels, the room. “What year is this?”

“Well—2259, of course.”

Her restless gaze stilled. “Then it worked!” she gasped. “I thought there was no hope.... But where is he? Where is Khan?”

All at once, Chekov understood. “You were in one of the cryo-tubes!” he said. “Your Khan must be John Harrison! But then you....”

He trailed off. She had been asleep for over two hundred years. She had missed Unification, first contact with the Vulcans, the creation of the Federation, and, most importantly, the events of the past few days. She was even more in the dark than he was.

And if what Admiral Marcus had said was true, she was also a genetically augmented war criminal sentenced to death. 

He stared at her, wide-eyed. She had already proved herself to be volatile and dangerous. Should he try to run, call for help? But she didn’t look dangerous now. She looked angry, and confused, and scared. No matter who she was, or what she had done all those centuries ago, she was still human. It seemed cruel to keep her in the dark.

So he told her what little he knew about Admiral Marcus and John Harrison. He told her about the attack on Kelvin Memorial Archive, Admiral Pike's death, and the Enterprise's secret mission. He told her about the Vengeance, the energy wave, and the array. 

She silently paced the tiny room throughout his narrative, and when he was done she burst out, “Then that makes us enemies!”

“What?” Chekov stared at her with wide eyes. “No, no I don't think—”

“Oh, I think it does,” she snarled. “You're trying to kill us!”

She looked like she was thinking of coming at him, so Chekov spread his hands open again. “Yes,” he said. “And now that I have captured you, I will finish the job with my phaser.” He checked his hands, as though surprised to find them empty. “I'm sure it's around here somewhere.”

“This isn't funny!” She strode to the door and ran her fingers along the frame.

“I tried that already.,” Chekov called after her.

“Well, I'm trying it again.” Like Chekov had, she quickly realized there was no control panel to open the door. She jammed her fingers into the crack between the two doors and strained until her arms trembled. The crack widened almost imperceptibly, but after a gasp of effort her fingers slipped free again. With a snarl of frustration, she pounded the heel of her hand against the door again and again. 

Chekov jumped off the bed and laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Hey!” he said. “What's that going to accomplish?”

She threw off his hand. “How can you be so accepting?” she demanded. “How can you just sit there? What are they doing to us?” Her hands clutched at the collar of her robe, exposing one of the ugly, weeping sores. “What are these things growing on us?”

“I don't know!” Chekov said. “But that's not going to help! Look—do you want them to sedate you again?”

She turned away and paced across the length of the room, her shoulders tight. After a moment she turned back, visibly calmer—though still visibly upset. “You're right,” she spat, as though the words pained her. “You're right.”

She didn't say anything more, so Chekov ventured, “What's your name?”

“Kati,” she said. All the anger seemed to drain out of her and her shoulders slumped. “Kati Tormis. I'm an astrophysicist. Or I was, anyway.”

“An astrophyscist,” Chekov repeated. It didn't sound like the usual sort of profession for a war criminal.

The door slid open, revealing the man who had sedated Kati earlier. He held two pairs of boots in one hand, and several garments draped over his other arm. Kati tensed and raised her fists, but Chekov lifted his hand, not quite touching her. Whatever this man had done earlier, he didn't seem like he was threatening them now.

“I hope you're feeling better,” he said. “I know how frightening this must be for both of you.” He lifted the boots slightly. “I brought some clothes, in case you'd care to change.”

“Why are you holding us here?” Kati demanded.

“You are not prisoners. In fact, we consider you honored guests. The Caretaker has sent you to us. As long as you are not violent you are free to leave your quarters.”

“What's wrong with us?” Chekov stretched out his hands, showing the ugly growths on their backs. “What are these things?”

“We really don't know,” the man said sadly. His words hung in the air for a moment. “You must be hungry,” he continued. “Would you care to join me in the courtyard for a meal?”

As though suddenly reminded, Chekov's stomach let out a loud rumble of protest. 

Kati glanced at him, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Why the hell not?” she said. “Give me those boots.”

They changed out of their white robes and into the soft earth-colored tunics and leggings. As he led them through a maze of white corridors, the man explained that his name was Ren, and his people called themselves the Ocampa. The corridors led them to an enormous, vaulted space, and the two humans stopped and stared in wonder.

It was a cavern, a cavern larger than anything Chekov had ever imagined. All of San Francisco could have fit inside—if it weren't for the city already inhabiting it. Rough stone walls blended seamlessly with pale geometric structures: fat circular columns, square buildings with multiple curved eaves like Japanese pagodas, and straight bridges across wide canals.

“We're underground!” he exclaimed.

“Our society is subterranean,” Ren said. “We've lived her for more than five hundred generations.”

Kati seemed fascinated by the alien architecture, and the aliens themselves, who watched them curiously from the promenade. “But before that—you lived on the surface?”

“Until the warming began.”

“The warming?”

“When our surface turned into a desert and the Caretaker came to protect us,” Ren explained. “Our ancient journals tell us that he opened a great chasm in the ground and led our ancestors to this place. Since then he has provided for all our needs.”

As they spoke, more Ocampa gathered around, forming a ragged crowd that watched Chekov and Kati with wide eyes. Ren glanced at their audience and smiled gently. “Please forgive them,” he said. “They know you've come from the Caretaker. None of us has ever seen him.” He gave another sad pause, and then said, “This way, please.”

They followed the promenade along the canal, passing Ocampa who turned to watch them as they walked by. Chekov began to feel like he was on display, and Kati's shoulders were tense again. A few people reached out and hesitantly brushed their hands against Chekov's shoulders, like petitioners seeking the blessing of a saint. He smiled nervously at them, unsure what to do. He was beginning to wonder whether the Caretaker was real, or merely a religious figure; the Ocampa certainly acted as though he was a god.

Ren brought them to a series of slots in one of the walls, which looked a lot like a public replicator. Sure enough, he reached into one of the slots and produced a bowl of dark-colored gruel, which he handed to Kati. 

She swirled her spoon around the mixture and eyed it doubtfully. “Does the Caretaker provide your meals, too?”

“In fact he does,” Ren said, offering another bowl to Chekov, who lifted a spoonful and watched it glop back into the bowl. “He designed and built this entire city for us after the warming. The food processors dispense nutritional supplements every 4.1 intervals.” He caught their dubious expressions and chuckled. “It may not offer the exotic tastes some of our younger people crave these days, but it meets our needs.”

Chekov cautiously tried a mouthful and decided it wasn't too bad. He gave Kati an encouraging smile, but she only arched a skeptical eyebrow.

Carrying their bowls, they followed Ren to some kind of lounge, where chairs faced a series of large viewscreens. A scattering of Ocampa sat, watching images of sunsets, clouds, and unfamiliar forests flicker across the screens. Their posture was relaxed, but not idle: whatever the images were, they were clearly not mere entertainment.

“This is how the Caretaker communicates with you?” Chekov guessed.

“The Caretaker never communicates directly. We try to interpret his wishes as best we can.”

“I'm curious to know how you've interpreted the Caretaker's reason for sending us here.”

“We believe he must have separated you from your own species for their protection.”

“Their protection?” Kati echoed.

“From your illness,” Ren said. “Perhaps he's trying to prevent a plague.”

“We weren't sick until we met your Caretaker!” she cried.

“From time to time he asks us to care for people with this disease,” Ren said, a little helplessly. “It's the least we can do.”

“There have been other like us?” Kati asked, narrowly beating Chekov to the same question.

“Yes,” Ren admitted.

“Where are they?”

“Your condition is serious. We don't know exactly how to treat it.” Another of Ren's sad silences stretched between them. “I'm afraid the others did not recover.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, and a happy December 25th to everyone else! Here's a chapter to read between eating pie and arguing with your relatives about politics...
> 
> As always, thanks for the reviews! I've seen some interest in Kirk/Marcus, and I do have tentative plans to head in that direction eventually (if only because I love the idea of dumping fatherhood on Kirk's lap!), but it could be a while. I think both characters have a good bit of development to go through before they get to that point.

The briefing room was depressingly empty. Kirk looked around, counting the faces present and the faces missing. Most of the senior staff had made it: Spock, head of Sciences; McCoy, chief medical officer; Scotty, chief of Engineering; Uhura, head of Communications; Sulu, Chief Helmsman. But Lieutenant Mendoza occupied the Chief of Security's chair—Matlock had died in the impact—and Ensign Tellammea took Chekov's place as Chief Navigator. Many of the assistant heads, who would normally have joined a full briefing, were absent, attending to repairs.

Or dead, Kirk thought grimly. The casualty report had been long, too long. Kirk had spent a long time reading the names, matching them with faces when he could. A small, cowardly part of him was grateful they were in the Delta Quadrant, because it meant for now, at least, he didn't have to worry about writing the letters. I regret to inform you....

But it also meant there would be no crew replacements coming from Starfleet, no new personnel to fill the many vacant positions. All non-essential posts were unmanned, and many crewmembers from Science and Security were being pressed into positions for which they were untrained. The Enterprise could barely function on so bare a skeleton crew.

There were a few new faces, though. Kirk let his gaze drift over the two strangers they had picked up, trying to be casual about it, trying not to stare. Kirk was accustomed to aliens, but these two were striking—Trance for her beauty, Behemial—or rather, Rev Bem—for his ugliness. They made an odd pair. Commander Sh’athylnik was also an unfamiliar, though less exotic face. She somehow gave the impression of being aloof from the other officers, despite sitting close between Spock and Uhura. She, too, scanned the room with apparent idleness. Their eyes met and Kirk offered her a faint smile. She didn't return it. Carol Marcus did return his smile, though weakly. She was pale and there were dark circles under eyes. Kirk wondered when she had last slept. 

He had cautiously suggested Spock make her his assistant head, not expecting the idea to go over well. But Spock only said, “I was considering the idea myself, Captain.”

“You were?” Kirk had said, surprised.

“She may have falsified her transfer documents, but her credentials are both genuine and excellent. Considering her experience and rank, it would be illogical not to offer her the position in light of the unfortunate losses of Lieutenants Tran and Ibekwe.”

“I just... thought you two didn't get along.”

Wearing his most inscrutable expression, Spock said, “What gave you that impression?”

Kirk had let the matter drop.

As the last stragglers took their seats, he sat forward, drawing the room's attention. “Ladies, gentlemen, and others, we just entered orbit around the system's fifth planet. We believe our missing people are on the planet—somewhere. Mr. Spock?”

Spock brought up a display of the planet on the room's large viewscreen. The realtime image changed almost imperceptibly as the planet turned slowly beneath them: a stark, barren world of orange and ocher. Kirk had seen arid worlds before, but this one was somehow different. After a moment he realized: there were no clouds.

“Geologic scans indicate this was once a Class M planet,” Spock said. “However, there is no longer any liquid water anywhere on the planet, rendering it uninhabitable.”

“How could an entire planet's water just disappear?” Uhura wondered.

“An excellent question, to which I am afraid I have no answer.”

“There is precious little water in this region of space,” Rev Bem said, in his rough voice. “There are old stories of a great disaster that stripped the water from dozens of worlds, leaving them lifeless and barren.”

“Do these old stories say what kind of disaster it was?” Kirk asked.

Rev Bem spread his clawed hands. “A different disaster for each story—and there are many stories. Some say a mysterious alien species did it, using advanced technology. Others say the Vedrans took the water with them when they left, to punish the planets' inhabitants for not siding with Tarn Vedra during the Fall. And some say it was ancient beings with unknowable powers—gods, if you will.”

Sh’athylnik made an impatient noise. “We don't have time for children's stories,” she said.

“Hold on, now,” McCoy said. “There can be truth in old stories, as unlikely as they may sound. And something happened to all that water.”

“If there's no water,” Kirk interrupted, before either of them could start a real argument, “How are there people?”

“They trade for it,” Rev Bem said. “Or… steal it.”

Kirk and Spock exchanged glances. “I take it the locals aren’t a peaceable lot,” Kirk said.

It was Trance and Rev Bem’s turn to share a look. “Not really,” Trance admitted. “In fact, they’re pretty unfriendly.”

“They’ll find we can be pretty unfriendly, too,” Sulu muttered.

“The away team will go armed,” Kirk agreed. He tried not to think about Kati and Chekov trapped with these people. “Where do we find these unfriendly locals?”

“On the southern continent—that one, there—there’s a range of extinct volcanoes,” Trance said. “Follow the foothills north to a dry riverbed. There’s an encampment there.”

“You think our people will be in this encampment?”

“Well—no. Not really.” She shrugged. “But it’s a start.”

They spent a few more minutes working out the details of the away team before Kirk dismissed them. As people began filing out the briefing room, he caught Marcus's elbow and drew her aside.

“How are you holding up?”

She gave him a thin, brittle smile. “I'm fine, Captain. Thank you for your concern.”

“Doctor McCoy told me about your father's condition.”

The smile stayed on her face, frozen and fragile. “He did everything he could. There's a medical center on Luna that specializes in neurosurgery. Doctor McCoy thinks they might have more success.”

There was no point in mentioning that Luna was over 70 thousand light-years away. “I'm glad to hear that,” he said. “In the meantime... make sure you get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched her walk away, her heavy steps so different from her usual springy stride. He wondered when she had last slept. He wondered when he had last slept. He wondered when either of them would have a chance to sleep again.

* * *

Once again Kirk found himself in the brig, facing Khan through a transparent barrier. Inside his secure glass box, Khan looked no more rested than Kirk. The augment stood still, hands loose at his side, face composed, failing to look calm. It was becoming easier to read him, a fact that both reassured and alarmed Kirk.

“Same terms,” Kirk said.

“No,” Khan said. “I, too, want guarantees.”

It was a kind of stalemate, Kirk reflected grimly. Each man held so much power over the other. As long as Khan remained imprisoned and his crew asleep in the Enterprise's hold, Kirk held all the cards. Outside the brig, Khan's superhuman strength made him nearly uncontrollable, unless Kirk stooped to the depth of blackmail to which Marcus had fallen.

And if I go down to Sickbay, I can see for myself where that got him.

He threw Khan's own words back at him. “What kind of guarantees would you like?”

“I want my people released,” Khan said.

Kirk bit back his first response, and his second. “Why should I do that?” he finally asked. “Why should I risk turning seventy-two homicidal augments loose on my ship when I can just leave you locked up in here?”

“Because it's the right thing to do.”

Pain blossomed beneath Kirk's sternum. He couldn't tell which emotion caused it—fury, grief, disbelief? They all roiled within his chest. He moved forward, until his breath misted the glass between them and he could stare into Khan's dark eyes. 

“Who are you,” he said, marveling at how steady his voice sounded, “to speak of doing the right thing? Were you doing the right thing when you killed dozens of innocent people at the Kelvin Archive? Was murdering Admiral Pike the right thing to do?”

It was Khan who blinked first, but he did not look away. “Does the unrighteousness of my actions justify the unrighteousness of your own?” he demanded. “My people, too, are innocent.”

“Marcus said they were criminals.”

Fury passed swiftly over Khan's face and was gone: a brief echo of Kirk's own emotions. “Marcus lied.”

Kirk realized he was clenching his fists; his nails dug painfully into his palms. Khan was right, and Kirk hated him for it, hated him for somehow having the moral high ground, for backing him into a corner. He had no evidence those people had committed any crime except the word Admiral Marcus—a man Kirk was inclined to neither believe nor trust. 

There were a dozen reasons not to do it—it was too dangerous for his ship, his crew; Starfleet should be the one to make the call; waking them could well end his career, supposing he still had one after everything that had happened—but he knew they were nothing but excuses. If it had been anyone but Khan, he wouldn't have hesitated.

“I can't revive them,” he said. “Not now. I don't have the people or resources to spare. They'll have to wait until we get back to the Alpha Quadrant.”

Khan's eyes narrowed. “Marcus also said he would revive my people—eventually.”

“I'm not Admiral Marcus.”

“No,” Khan said thoughtfully. “You're not.”

They studied each other through the glass. Kirk forced his hands to relax.

“I want your word,” Khan said finally, “That you will release my people as soon as you are able.”

“You would accept my word, after Marcus lied to you?”

“As you say, you are not Marcus.”

Kirk hesitated. Those cryotubes were the only leverage he had. But did he really have a choice? Marcus wouldn't have agreed. No, Marcus would have agreed, and lied. But Marcus had sent Kirk to execute a man without a trial, and then tried to destroy the Enterprise. And Kirk was not Marcus. He would not, could not, be Marcus.

“You have my word.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope everyone has a safe and fun New Year's Eve and gets 2017 off to a good start!

The planet materialized around them in a haze of heat and dust. Searing sunlight poured down out of an impossibly blue sky, casting hard-edged shadows on the red rocks. Kirk squinted against the glare. Around him, the rest of the away team did the same. Rev Bem actually raised one clawed hand to shield his face—Kirk suspected his species might be low light-adapted—but Khan stared calmly around the bleak landscape, apparently unaffected by fierce light. He and Rev Bem were the only ones without phasers; Khan because Kirk didn't trust him, Rev Bem because he said his religious order was a pacifist one.

A steady pulsing noise echoed across the salt flats on which they stood, keeping time with the streaks of light that flashed down from above and vanished into a distant outcropping of rock. Not far away, more rocks thrust up from the foothills of a veritable mountain range of sand dunes. Interspersed among the narrow fingers of rock were the tattered remains of buildings: arches, domes, pillars, all worn down by the constant movement of wind and sand across their surfaces. A ramshackle collections of tents and lean-tos sprawled around the base of the closest structure. Two angular out-of-atmosphere ships crouched nearby on the flats. Everything was hot, dry, dusty.

“Who would want to live in a place like this?” Sulu muttered.

Trance started walking toward the settlement, her tail twitching. They all trailed after her. “I think it’s pretty, in its own way,” she said.

More practical, Rev Bem said, “The rich kormaline deposits are much in demand.”

“Do the Ocampa use it for barter?” Sh’athylnik asked. She was already panting from the heat. Andorians could tolerate extreme heat even better than Vulcans, but it cost them.

“Oh, no,” Trance said, without turning around. “The Ocampa don’t trade with anybody.”

Kirk looked at Rev Bem, wondering if he would have something more useful to add. Rev Bem glanced at Trance’s back and then at the sky, as though seeking guidance. He said, reluctantly, “The Magog mine and trade the kormaline ore.”

“The Magog?” Kirk repeated. “Who are the Magog?”

Rev Bem tucked his hands into his sleeves and nodded toward the settlement, where humanoid figures could be seen scrambling among the tents, clearly agitated by their arrival. “They are. The Magog tribes control this part of the quadrant. Some have food, some have ore, some have water. They all trade, and they all kill each other.” He sounded disappointed, as though he expected better of the Magog. And perhaps he did, if he had come here to convert them.

“Hold on.” Kirk lengthened his stride to catch up to Trance. “You said the Ocampa had our people.”

“Well, actually, no. I didn’t say that.” Trance gave him an apologetic look and a hopeful smile, like a puppy that knows it’s misbehaved but hopes being cute will be enough to save it. Kirk knew that look: he’d used it before. “I, um, also didn’t say the settlement was Ocampan.”

Kirk opened his mouth, and then closed it. He had made an assumption, and the fact that she had deliberately led him to that assumption didn’t excuse his failure. Just because she was friendly and attractive didn't mean she was trustworthy or reliable. Spock would say he had allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment. McCoy would say something similar, but a lot pithier.

“Is there anything you would like to say?” he said pointedly.

“Well…” Trance glanced at Rev Bem. “I’m sure you’ll see soon enough.”

Kirk would have liked to press her, but it was too late: a ragged crowd was spilling toward them from the settlement. The away team bunched together as the people—the Magog—approached them. Sh’athylnik muttered something in Andorian and Sulu gave an exclamation of surprise. Kirk didn’t blame them. The Magog and Rev Bem were the same species.

“Something you forgot to tell us, Reverend?” Kirk asked quietly.

“‘Forgot’ is not the word I would use,” Rev Bem replied dryly.

These Magog lacked Rev Bem’s measured stride: they loped and sprang as they surrounded the landing party, clawed hands raised menacingly, forcing the away team to bunch together. They wore no robes, nothing but their own coarse pelts. And they didn’t look at all inclined to religious contemplation: they bared their needle-like teeth and hissed at the interlopers, producing a keening, screeching noise that Kirk realized was a language, though the Universal Translator refused to render it into anything understandable.

“Hold your fire!” Kirk warned his people, though his own phaser had appeared in his hand almost against his will.

“We’re here to see Black Claw!” Trance shouted. Her voice was shrill but admirably steady. “Excuse us—we want to see Black Claw!”

She edged forward, and the press of snarling Magog gave way grudgingly before her. Kirk and the rest of the away team followed closely on her heels, phasers pointed warily at anyone who ventured too close. Khan, though lacking a phaser, seemed tense but calm; Rev Bem, on the other hand, hissed and screeched back at the horde. Kirk didn’t dare ask what he was saying, afraid the slightest wrong move could set off a violent rush.

The Magog village—if Kirk could grace it with such a word—was nothing more than a shantytown. The Magog had thrown up crude shelters among the ruins of what must have once been an ancient and beautiful city, or simply squatted among the broken stones. There was little evidence of advanced technology beside the two ships, and he wondered how the Magog mined the kormaline. Then he saw the rough palisade, built against the side of a decaying building, and the wretched figures huddled within it. Kirk was too far to get a good look at them, but they seemed to be of more than one species, none of them Magog. Slave labor. So that was how they were mining the kormaline. His stomach twisted in disgust.

Sulu nudged his shoulder and nodded toward another building. In the shadow of the doorway a Magog crouched, watching the cavalcade pass with glittering eyes. In his claws he clutched what was clearly a dismembered arm, and as Kirk watched the Magog raised it to his mouth and bit off a mouthful of flesh. Kirk looked away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, fighting the urge to vomit. He was suddenly aware of the smell of rotting meat, thick and heavy in the back of his throat.

Trance stopped so suddenly Kirk almost ran into her. Distracted, he had failed to notice the approach of another Magog, bigger than the others. In the way many less Human-looking aliens did at first, all the Magog looked alike to Kirk’s eyes, but he was beginning to recognize variation in their rough faces and coarse pelts. They were all more or less the same size—if any differed in age or gender, Kirk couldn’t tell—but this Magog was taller and broader across the shoulder. He moved differently, too: heavy, swaggering. This must be Black Claw.

Black Claw looked past Trance and Kirk as if they weren’t even there and said something to Rev Bem in the harsh Magog language. Rev Bem answered in clear Anglish—or what Kirk’s Universal Translator rendered as Anglish.

“We are here to bargain this time, not preach,” he said. “I think you will want to hear what these people have to say.”

Black Claw’s eyes went to Kirk, and then away again. “What could they possibly have that would interest me?” he demanded, answering Rev Bem in the same language.

“Water,” Trance said. She unhooked the small canteen clipped to her belt and stretched it nervously out toward Black Claw, clearly unwilling to get any closer to him than she had to. “They have a technology that can make water out of thin air.”

Kirk tensed, afraid Black Claw might try to grab her, but he only took the canteen and sniffed at the container’s open mouth. He passed it to one of the other Magog clustered around him and studied Kirk with an unpleasantly predatory gaze. 

“You have more?” he rasped.

With the hand not holding his phaser, Kirk flipped open his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise. Energize.”

The canteen had seemed like a pitifully small amount of water when Trance requested it, but after only a few minutes on this parched planet Kirk realized how precious even a few drops of liquid were. The enormous tank that materialized a dozen meters away now seemed absurd, decadent. He could smell the cool, dank scent of wet metal and damp air, even through the stink of rot. The Magog turned as one, sniffing at the air like eager dogs. Most of the horde broke away from Black Claw and ran to the tank, some snatching up empty containers as they went. Black Claw looked after them, the expression on his ugly face unreadable.

“There’s more where that came from if you help us,” Kirk said, thinking he would rather see these people die of thirst than give them so much as a drop of piss.

Black Claw lifted his lips in a snarl, exposing pointed teeth. “I am not in the habit of helping my food,” he said. “But for you, I may make an exception.”

Kirk struggled not to react. Behind him, he Sulu mutter something under his breath and felt Khan move impatiently. “These people led us here suggesting we might find the people called Ocampa,” he said, gesturing toward Trance and Rev Bem and fighting to keep his voice level. “Do you know where they are?”

“Ocampa?” Black Claw repeated. “She is Ocampa.”

He gestured with a clawed hand. While they spoke, a slim, elfin figure had drifted into the doorway of a nearby structure. Kirk was instantly captivated. She was beautiful, with porcelain-fair skin and spun-gold hair. Among the coarse, dark bodies of Magog, she looked ethereal, angelic. But there was dirt and blood smeared across her face and tunic, and she hunched slightly, as though it hurt to stand.

“What interest do you have in such worthless creatures?” Black Claw continued, oblivious to Kirk’s growing fury. “You are obviously very powerful; they are weak, pathetic. We caught this one when she wandered to the surface.”

“To the surface,” Sh’athylnik repeated, pulling Kirk’s attention away from the battered woman. The Andorian’s voice was level, but her antennae were tilted at a dangerous angle. She obviously didn’t like dealing with Black Claw any more than Kirk did. “You mean they live underground.”

“The entity in space that gives them food and power also gives them sole access to the only water on this world, two miles beneath the surface,” Black Claw explained. He tilted his head, a gesture Kirk read as curiosity. “Perhaps you, too, wish to reach their city? It is impossible. The entity has created a subterranean barrier we cannot penetrate.”

And I bet that’s precisely why he made it, Kirk thought. But just because the Magog couldn’t get through didn’t mean he couldn’t.

“She got out,” Khan said suddenly. “Surely you could go down the same way she came up.”

Kirk just managed to stop himself from telling Khan to shut up. They couldn’t afford to show dissent in front of these people, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than to hit Khan in the face a few more times. The last thing he needed was for Khan to undermine his authority or, worse, give the Magog ideas.

Black Claw hissed at Khan. “Sometimes they manage to find their way to the surface,” he said. “But the Ocampa seal the tunnels afterward. This one has refused to show us the path she took, even though we have tortured her.”

Kirk couldn’t allow himself to react to that, though the rest of the away team bristled openly. If he let himself act on the rage that filled him… He felt Khan stir beside him and Kirk half-turned, unwilling to show his back to Black Claw, to mouth at him, Not another word.

Khan met his his eyes and quirked an eyebrow to show he understood, and then spoke anyway. “In that case, she’s worthless to you,” he said smoothly. “Let us trade you water for this scrawny thing.”

Kirk almost did punch Khan, then, but caught himself in time. It was clever, he had to admit. He would have been a lot more appreciative if he wasn’t sure Khan was exactly as cold-blooded as he sounded.

Black Claw was dismissive. “I have a better offer,” he said. “Give us this technology that creates water from thin air, and I will give you as many of those as you want.” He tipped his head toward the pen holding the slaves.

Kirk’s heart began to pound. From the moment he had seen the enclosure he had wondered if there were some way to free the people trapped within, despite the overwhelming number of Magog. Could he negotiate for their freedom? Giving the Magog replicator technology was out of the question. Even if it wasn’t a violation of the Prime Directive, he wouldn’t give Black Claw anything except, perhaps, a barrage of phaser fire.

“That would be difficult,” he hedged, giving himself time to think. “It’s integrated into our ship’s systems.”

As he spoke, he saw those Magog who had stayed beside Black Claw begin to edge closer to the away team. They had no intention of bargaining, Kirk realized. Black Claw wanted the replicator technology, but he would stab Kirk in the back the moment he had it—or sooner.

Trance saw it, too. She lifted her phaser and pointed it at Black Claw. “Get back!” she shouted. “Get back, or he dies!” And then, “Kes!”

The away team contracted into a tight ring, phasers phasing out at the suddenly snarling Magog that surrounded them. There were only a handful of Magog now, but those that had run to the water tank, realizing something had changed, were racing back toward them. Soon the numbers would be overwhelming, and there would be no way to beam out before being torn to shreds. They needed something to tip the odds in their favor.

Kirk’s eyes swept over the ruined city, looking for something, anything—and found the water tank. He lifted his phaser and fired. A long gash appeared in the side of the tank, and water began to pour onto the sand, which soaked it up greedily. A wail of fury and despair rose up from the Magog; some turned back to frantically collect as much water as they could in buckets and pails. The ring around the away team wavered, unsure.

“Kes!” Trance shouted again. 

The golden-haired woman gathered herself and sprinted toward them. She slipped through a gap between two Magog; one swiped at her as she passed, clipping her shoulder. She stumbled, fell at Trance’s feet, and flung her arms around the other woman’s knees. Trance pressed her hand protectively against the woman’s head and said to Kirk, “Get us out of here!”

Kirk already had his communicator in his hand. “Seven to beam up!”

Black Claw screamed something in his own tongue and the Magog sprang forward. Kirk watched a gnarled, three-fingered hand, tipped with long, deeply-curved claws, swing toward his face… and then dissolve into nothingness as the transporter seized him.

As soon as the transporter room materialized around him, he whirled on Trance and Rev Bem. “What the hell was that?” he demanded. His heart pounded with the thwarted fight-or-flight reflex. He’d been played, from start to finish: they had used him for their own ends, manipulated him for their own purposes. He had barely gotten them out in one piece and he was no closer to finding his lost people and he wanted answers—

The anger left him in a rush. Trance was gently helping the Ocampan woman stand. The two women embraced; the Ocampan woman trembled in Trance’s arms, and Trance stroked her hair tenderly. “Didn’t I tell you I’d come back for you?” she murmured.

It was an intensely private moment. Kirk wrenched his eyes away, feeling like a voyeur. His gaze slid across the other members of the away team: Sulu smiling slightly, Sh’athylnik inexplicably stricken, Rev Bem quietly pleased, Khan...

Kirk looked away from Khan, as well. He couldn't read all the emotions written on the other man's face, but they were clearly both powerful and painful. Trance may have neatly manipulated them into rescuing someone she cared about, but Khan, like Kirk, still had someone important to him in danger.

“Trance,” Kirk said, reluctantly breaking apart the tender reunion, “It looks like your friend could use some medical attention. Why don't we get her down to Sickbay, and then you can tell me all the things you haven't been telling me.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter!

Chekov watched wearily as Kati paced from one end of the small, barren plaza to the other. Claiming she was tired of the Ocampa staring at them, Kati had insisted they leave the open courtyard where the Ocampa received food and messages from their Caretaker. Chekov would have preferred to stay and watch the images, which were soothing, or talk to the Ocampa, which might distract him from their situation. Instead, Kati had led him through the broad streets until they found this deserted corner of the city. Watching her walk back and forth, he was forced to admit he probably didn’t have the energy to talk with curious aliens; just looking at Kati made him feel exhausted.

“We have to get out of here,” she muttered. “We have to get up to the surface.”

“There’s no way out,” Chekov said, not for the first time. “Ren told us there was no way to get to the surface.”

“He told us that,” Kati countered, “But how do we know he’s telling us the truth?”

Chekov didn’t bother to answer. They’d had this conversation before, and he didn’t think it was going to be any more productive this time than the last time. Ren might be lying to them, or might simply be mistaken. The idea of exploring a new, alien city, trying to find something people said couldn’t be found, should have been exciting, if a little harrowing. Chekov only felt tired, and a little nauseous. He regretted accepting the gruel Ren had insisted he eat.

“I’m sure Captain Kirk is doing everything he can to find us,” he offered.

Kati made a noise that was equal parts impatient and desperate. “What makes you think any of them are still alive?” she demanded.

Chekov didn’t answer that, either. He thought they were alive because even considering any of the alternatives threatened to drown him in despair. He hadn’t become the youngest officer in Starfleet by giving in to despair, and he wasn’t going to start now. Even if it was very, very hard. Even if he could feel the fear pressing against him on all sides. Even if—

He just couldn’t think about it.

“And if they are alive,” Kati continued, “it will be Khan leading the rescue…”

She swayed unsteadily and Chekov lunged toward her. He caught her elbow just as his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, and he barely managed to keep them both from falling down. They clung to one another for support.

“Should I call for help?” Chekov asked, hoping she would say yes.

“No!” she snapped.

“Are you in pain?” someone asked gently.

Kati whirled. Chekov, his reactions dulled by exhaustion, barely managed to stay upright as she inadvertently dragged him around to face the speaker. An Ocampa woman stood a short distance away, watching them with a slightly apologetic air. It was the same woman, Chekov realized, he had seen when he first woke in the Ocampa hospital.

“Have you been following us?” Kati demanded. “I thought we weren’t your prisoners.”

The woman seemed wary of Kati’s temper. Since she had watched Kati violently attack another Ocampa only a few hours ago, Chekov thought that was understandable. But she didn’t leave, despite Kati’s hostility.

“I wasn’t watching you,” she said. “I was looking for you.” She approached cautiously, glancing around the plaza as though afraid someone might be following her. Maybe, Chekov thought, Kati’s temper wasn’t the only thing she was wary of. “I wanted to give you this.” 

She took Chekov’s hand and pressed something into his palm. He glanced down and saw it was a small vial filled with a viscous green fluid.

“I don’t know if it will help,” the woman admitted, as Kati peered over Chekov’s shoulder to see the vial. “It’s a medicine.” She looked nervously around again, and Chekov did the same: her paranoia was contagious. “There are people who have broken from tradition and left the city. Their colony grows fruit and vegetables. They discovered quite by accident that the moss that grows on certain fruit trees has healing properties.” She reached out and touched his hand again, her fingers lingering. “I… I’m sorry for what’s happened to you.”

Chekov closed his fingers around the vial. It felt cool against his skin. This was the first time anyone had given any indication their illness was something that had been done to them, rather than a tragic act of nature. Somehow, it gave Chekov hope. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t just chance, and if there was an explanation, there might be a way to fix it.

“I appreciate this,” he said sincerely, “But the only way we’re going to survive is if we can get to the surface and find our own people.”

The woman pulled away from him, unsure. “The elders would say that’s against the Caretaker’s wishes,” she said slowly.

Kati caught her hesitation. “What do you say?” she pressed.

The woman wavered a moment longer, then said, reluctantly, “The Caretaker’s been behaving… strangely for the past several months. Abducting people, increasing the power supply.”

“Power supply?” Chekov repeated, wondering how this could possibly connect their abduction and strange illness.

“He’s tripled the energy he sends us,” the Ocampa explained. “They say we have enough stored now to last five years.”

“And no one knows why?”

“When we ask, we’re told to trust the Caretaker’s decisions.” She sounded torn, and Chekov thought he could understand why. To depend utterly on another being for everything you needed to survive had to create both great faith and great resentment. “One person I knew did get to the surface,” she admitted. “But we never saw her again.”

“How?” Kati demanded. “How did she get to the surface?”

“The ancient tunnels that brought us here still exist,” she said. “Over the years, small breaches in the security barrier have appeared that are just large enough for someone to fit through. But it still requires digging through hitras of rock to get out.”

The Universal Translator offered no translation for the measure of distance the woman used, but Kati seemed undaunted by the thought of tunneling through an unknown thickness of stone.

“Can you get us tools to dig with?” she asked.

The Ocampa woman seemed alarmed by her determination. “It could take days, even weeks to break through,” she said. “You need to rest, conserve your strength.”

Why? Chekov wondered. So they could die more slowly? He didn’t feel like he could walk across the plaza, let alone lift a shovel, but he refused to give into despair. “Please,” he said, trying to make her understand. “It’s our only chance.”

The woman met his eyes, and something must have got through to her because her face softened. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll do what I can to help.”


	16. Chapter 16

The Ocampa, who introduced herself as Kes, lay placidly on an examining table as McCoy grumbled and fussed over her. After declaring he could hardly treat a member of species he'd never seen before, and that without knowing more about her physiology he was just as likely to kill her as cure her, McCoy had, almost grudgingly, admitted that her injuries were largely superficial. 

Torn between amusement and dismay by his friend's performance, Kirk watched McCoy run a dermal regenerator over one of Kes’s many bruises. While readily healed by McCoy’s instruments, her wounds were not what Kirk would call “superficial”: bruises, lacerations, punctures, and cracked ribs, all from the claws and teeth of Black Claw. He suspected McCoy was trying to be soothing, and it seemed to be working, at least on Kes and Trance. Kes was almost relaxed—after the Magog encampment, the Enterprise sickbay must seem like a paradise—and Trance hovered at McCoy’s elbow, apparently more curious of the doctor’s technique than concerned by her lover’s injuries.

The others in Sickbay were a different story. Rev Bem stood with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe and an uncomfortable expression on his grotesque face, no doubt expecting Kirk to ask him hard questions about his people and his own past. Kirk had every intention of asking those questions at the first opportunity, but for now he would let Rev Bem wait. Khan leaned against an empty biobed, despite efforts from his hovering security detail to herd him into a more defensible corner. His posture was relaxed but his body was tense, though his habitually unreadable expression softened whenever he looked at Kes. Kirk didn’t blame him: she had a simple, innocent beauty that drew the eye of every man in the room. Only Spock appeared immune, and Kirk had his doubts about what lay beneath that impassive facade. For his own part, Trance’s deception had left Kirk wary of trusting his judgment when it came to attractive females.

Spock had left Sulu in charge of the Bridge and joined the rest of the away team in Sickbay, which was rapidly turning into an impromptu meeting room. Sulu had obviously briefed him what had happened, because he radiated a stiff anger that probably looked like emotionless indifference to everyone else in the room except Kirk and, maybe, McCoy.

“If you had told us what you planned,” Spock said to Trance with pointed calm, “we might have anticipated your irrational behavior.”

Trance spared Spock a baffled glance. “Irrational?” she echoed. “We got out of there, didn’t we?”

Kes gently pushed McCoy aside and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the biobed. “Excuse me,” she said softly, and all the men in the room immediately turned toward her—including Spock, Kirk noticed. He caught himself leaning forward when McCoy cocked an ironic eyebrow at him, and forced himself to take a step back. “Please don’t blame Trance and Rev Bem,” Kes continued. “I shouldn’t have gone to the surface. I’m too curious. I’m told it’s my worse failing.”

“Don’t say that,” Trance protested. “Curiosity is never a bad thing.”

“Jim, this is a Sickbay, not a conference room,” McCoy interjected. “My patient needs rest.”

“Sorry, Bones,” Kirk said. “But I need to talk to Kes, if she’s up to it.”

“I feel much better—”

“Doctor McCoy,” Rev Bem interjected, “did you perform an intensive scan of Kes’s abdomen?”

Everyone in the room stared at him. “I did,” McCoy said slowly. 

“And it showed nothing unusual?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“You don’t think—” Trance said, and stopped suddenly.

Reluctantly, Rev Bem said, “Magog—my species—reproduces by laying larvae inside a living humanoid host.”

A horrified silence filled the Sickbay. “What happens to the host when they mature?” McCoy demanded, aghast.

“The larvae kill and consume him.”

Kirk pressed his hand against his mouth to hide his expression. McCoy, not so controlled, said, “Good God, man,” and pressed Kes back onto the biobed, his medical tricorder already back in his hand. Only Spock and Khan seemed unaffected; even Trance, who had to have known about this facet of Magog biology, looked distressed.

“Perhaps,” Kirk said, “Now would be a good time for you two to explain what the hell happened down there.”

“You already know we came to this system to spread Wayism,” Rev Bem said, sounding weary. “The Magog here are more… civilized that those we have heard of anywhere else. We hoped this meant they would be more receptive to our message, but… that does not seem to be the case.”

If Black Claw and his followers were civilized, Kirk didn’t want to know what the rest of the species was like.

“When they first visited the surface, Trance found me in… she found me,” Kes said, turning to look at Kirk with her vivid blue eyes. “She gave me water when the Magog weren’t looking. She promised she would find a way to get me out, but I was afraid… Captain, there were other people there. I didn’t see them much, the Magog kept me separate, but I’m afraid for them. Is there anything you can do?”

Kirk passed his hand over his face, feeling stubble under his palm. It was something that had been troubling him, too. Spock said quickly, “Captain, any intervention in this system would be clear violation of the Prime Directive—”

“ _Thank you_ , Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and Spock fell silent. “I’m sorry, Kes, but we can’t get involved. I want to help those people, but it’s not our fight.”

The words felt like chewing glass. He wanted nothing more than to go back down to the planet surface and mount a rescue mission to free all those people. But he couldn’t. It might feel like a cop-out, but the Prime Directive existed for a reason.

Telling himself that didn’t make him feel any better.

Trance looked troubled, but Kes nodded somberly. “I understand. We—I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done.”

Kirk slanted a wry look at Trance and Rev Bem. “It would have been nice to know what we were walking into before we walked into it.”

They had the grace to look embarrassed. “Forgive us,” Rev Bem said. “But although we wanted to trust you, we could not be sure of your goodwill. This seemed the safest course.”

“Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, eh?” McCoy said. He patted Kes’s shoulder gently. “The scan shows no sign of foreign cells. There’s nothing wrong with you a little bed rest won’t cure.”

Kes sat up again and Trance moved to take her hands. “We really are sorry we didn’t tell you truth,” the purple-skinned woman said. “We’d like to help you find your people, if we can.”

Kirk’s pulse quickened. Maybe their detour to the planet surface hadn’t been a total loss. “Would you be willing to take us underground to look for them?”

Kes looked pained. “I’m sorry, but Black Claw was right. There’s no way down. The tunnel I came through has been sealed.”

He almost laughed with relief. Such a small obstacle, after they had come so far. “We don’t need a tunnel,” he explained. “We have the ability to transport there directly.”

Uncomprehending, Kes looked to Trance, who said, “The same way we got here from the surface.”

“Oh!” Kes exclaimed softly. “I thought I was imagining things. Everything happened so quickly….”

“Captain,” Spock said, “our sensors have detected no indication of an underground civilization. The subterranean barrier Black Claw described may be responsible. It may block our transporters as well.”

_Always the killjoy_ , Kirk thought wryly. The only good thing was that he usually thought up a solution to whatever problems he found. But before Spock could say anything more, Kes offered, “There are gaps in the security barrier where it’s begun to decay. That’s how I got out.”

Kirk nodded to Spock. “Have the transporter room begin scanning for any breaches we might be able to beam through.”

Spock nodded in return and turned to leave. In the doorway he hesitated, his eyes lingering on Khan. He glanced at McCoy and something seemed to pass between them, because he left without saying anything.

Kirk frowned at McCoy, but the other man only offered him a bland look that told him nothing. With a sigh, Kirk excused himself from their guests and ordered Hendorff to escort Khan back to the brig.

Khan stirred and began, “Captain—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Kirk cut across him. “You gave me your word, remember? You would return to the brig, regardless of what happened.”

He waited, wondering what Khan’s next move would be. The augment narrowed his eyes; Kirk had the distinct impression he didn’t like taking orders. Then Khan said, “Are you going to leave those people on the surface?”

Kirk stared at him, caught off-guard. “What do you care?” he demanded.

“The Magog will kill them if you do nothing. Surely you can see that.”

He could see that all too clearly. “What am I supposed to do, storm the Magog settlement and rescue them?” he said. “Then what? How are they supposed to get back to their homeworlds? How are they supposed to defend themselves when the Magog try to recapture them? What if their escape leads to reprisals against their people from the Magog?”

Khan curled his lip in scorn. “In other words, you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Kirk snapped. “I’m—” _not reacting without thinking through the consequences of my actions._ “—doing the right thing.”

This answer didn’t seem to satisfy Khan. “Our technology is far superior than theirs. We could easily destroy the Magog and free their captives. You cannot claim doing nothing is the right thing to do!”

His vehemence surprised Kirk. “‘With great power there is great responsibility,’ is that what you’re saying?”

“Precisely.”

“Or maybe you mean ‘might is right.’”

Khan hesitated, but only for a moment. “That wasn’t the stance you took on Nibiru.”

Nibiru seemed like a lifetime ago. “Maybe I’ve changed since Nibiru.” _And how the hell did he know about that?_

“But have you changed for the better?”

Kirk turned away, not wanting Khan to see his uncertainty. “I guess we’ll find out.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo, guys, I feel like we're in the home stretch! I know some chapters have been pretty derivitive of “Caretaker”—this is one of them, I'm sorry to say—but I think the remainder will be lot more original, which hopefully equals more fun. I'm revising the last chapters now and filling in a few missing scenes and I'm really excited to get to the big finale!

For what Kirk sincerely hoped was the last time, the away team materialized on—or rather, slightly inside—the dusty red planet. The coordinates Spock had provided, limited by their ability to pass a transporter beam through one of the small gaps in the security barrier, seemed to have deposited them in some kind of agricultural area. In sharp contrast to the barren surface above, Kirk’s first impression was one of overwhelming greenness: neat rows of unfamiliar plants grew in planters or cascaded down the stone walls, and the air was heavy with the smell of water. The cavern, easily the size of one of _Enterprise’s_ larger hangars, was lit evenly by enormous glowing blocks mounted on the walls. He could hear the rush of a waterfall and, over that, the steady thrum of the Caretaker’s energy pulses.

Kes glanced around quickly, getting her bearings. “This way,” she said, and strode confidently down a paved path.

The away team followed—Kirk; Khan again, despite Kirk’s continued misgivings; Trance, who had insisted on accompanying Kes; Sh’athylnik; and Sulu. Spock, apparently doubtful of Kirk’s ability to stay out of trouble without his presence, had requested to join the party, but Kirk wanted him on the _Enterprise_ , and Rev Bem had demurred from accompanying them on the grounds his presence might alarm the Ocampa. A handful of people scattered around the cavern watched them curiously but without alarm. They were slight and fair, like Kes, and dressed in soft, earth-toned clothing. Kirk didn’t like to jump to conclusions about alien races, but the difference between these people and the Magog was striking.

Sulu had his tricorder out. “Sir, the pulses from the array are getting faster.”

“Whatever the Caretaker is planning, it's happening soon.” Kirk looked again at the lush greenery and the calm people, so unlike the barren rock above and the violent Magog who inhabited it. Did these people know what was happening? Did they know what the Caretaker intended for them?

Ahead of them, a dark-haired man rose slowly from examining the leaves of a plant, staring at them in disbelief. Kes broke into a run, and for a moment Kirk thought there might be trouble. But then Kes threw herself into the man's arms.

“Kes!” he cried.

“Hello, Daggin.” Kes smiled warmly up at him.

He pushed her out to arm's length, laughing a little. “We thought we'd never see you again! How did you get back?”

“These people rescued me from the Kazon.” Kes half-turned to gesture at the away team. “I'm trying to help them find two of their crewmen.” She raised her voice and looked to the gathering crowd. “Does anyone know where the aliens are kept? The ones the Caretaker sends here?”

Daggin glanced curiously at Kirk and the others and then back to Kes. “I think they're in the central clinic,” he offered. The other Ocampa only watched the unfolding scene with mild interest. They seemed more excited by Kes’s miraculous return than by the aliens standing in their garden.

Kirk stepped forward, drawing Daggin attention back to him. “Can you take us there?” he asked.

The watching Ocampa all jumped as though startled by a loud noise, though Kirk heard nothing but water and energy pulses. Kes looked past Daggin's shoulder at something behind Kirk.

“They can't speak telepathically, Toscat,” she said sharply. “Please talk aloud.”

Kirk turned and found himself facing an older man walking toward them, a little taller than the other Ocampa and beginning to turn gaunt with age. He wore a gray robe and an expression of habitual melancholy. “I didn't mean to be rude,” the man said to Kirk. “But you should not be here.”

“We'll be glad to leave once we find our crewmen,” Kirk told him honestly.

Like Black Claw, this man was obviously a leader, and obviously bent on getting in Kirk’s way, but after Black Claw—and Nero and Khan and half a dozen other people who had tried to get in Kirk’s way—Kirk wasn’t intimidated. He met Toscat’s gaze steadily, and it was the Ocampa who looked away first, glancing to Sh’athylnik and Khan as though considering whether either of them might be more easily cowed.

_Not likely_ , Kirk thought.

“That won't be possible,” Toscat said. “We cannot interfere with the Caretaker's wishes.”

“Maybe you can't,” Sh’athylnik said sharply, “but we can.”

“You don't understand,” Toscat insisted.

“That's right, they don't understand,” Kes said. There was a fire in her eyes Kirk hadn't seen before. “They have no way of knowing that the Ocampa have been dependent on the Caretaker for so long we can't even think for ourselves anymore! They don't understand we were once a people who had full command of our minds' abilities.”

Toscat smiled patronizingly down at her. “The stories of our ancestors' cognitive abilities are apocryphal—at the very least, exaggerated.”

“We lost those abilities because we stopped using them!”

“We should not dwell on what has been lost, but on all that has been gained.”

“We've _gained_ a talent for dependence, for simply taking what we're given,” Kes said. The Ocampa gathered around them murmured softly in agreement. It was milder than the shouts Kirk would have expected from a Human crowd, but Toscat flushed in alarm. “I'm going to help them, whether you like it or not—and I think my friends will join me.”

Toscat's expression said he knew she was right. He took Kes's arm and drew her away from the other Ocampa—though not so far that Kirk couldn't hear what he said.

“You defied the Caretaker by going to the surface, Kes,” he said. “Learn from the experience! Follow the path he has set for us.”

Kes didn't bother to lower her voice. “I learned very well, Toscat. I saw the sunlight! I can't believe our Caretaker would forbid us to open our eyes and see the sky!” She turned away from him and grabbed Trace’s hand. “Come with me, we'll find your people.”

Only a few of the watching Ocampa hesitated before following Kes out of the cavern. As Kirk turned to follow them, he couldn't help but smirk a little at the sight of Toscat, standing alone in the underground garden.

* * *

Chekov was hoping for a phase-drill and some plasma globes, but what they got were old-fashioned shovels and filament lights. He tried not to let his disappointment show as the Ocampa nurse bade them good luck and, with many anxious glances over her shoulder, left them at the mouth of the tunnel she promised would lead them to the surface. Kati turned the light over in her hands, examining the hard plastic case.

“I always imagined aliens would be more technologically advanced than us,” she said, “but this looks like something from my time. I would have thought people capable of making food out of raw energy could do better than this.” She shook the light and something inside—probably the power cell—rattled faintly. “Though,” she added thoughtfully, “it was really disgusting food.”

“I think their more advanced technology was given to them by the Caretaker,” Chekov said. “They don’t really seem to understand how it works, do they?”

They stood in silence for a moment and stared at the tunnel yawning before them. Their guide had led them down a series of sidestreets that turned into cut stone passages and finally to this tunnel, which looked like nothing more than a ragged hole in the rock wall. The walk alone had left Chekov so exhausted he wanted nothing more than to lie down on the ground and sleep until someone came to rescue them.

Kati switched on her light and shone it down the tunnel. The darkness swallowed the beam entirely. “There’s no point in just standing here,” she said.

She started down the tunnel without looking to see if Chekov followed. He groaned and forced himself to stumble forward. The floor was rough but otherwise level, but the tunnel gradually narrowed until it was smaller than one of the corridors on the Enterprise. Chekov guessed they had gone almost a kilometer and was beginning to feel the uncomfortable pressure of stone all around him when the passage opened suddenly into a large room. At first he thought it was a dead end; then he saw the staircase.

They both pointed their lights straight up, and Chekov groaned again. The tunnel turned into a wide shaft, arrowing straight up farther than their light could reach. The staircase, an alarmingly rickety construction, spiraled upward along the walls.

“None of that,” Kati said sharply. “We’ll… just take it slowly, that’s all.”

The only good thing Chekov could see was that there were lights bolted to the wall at irregular intervals. They started up the staircase, Kati leading, shovels braced over their shoulders and flashlights clutched in their hands. Chekov felt like he had weights in his boots. He found himself counting steps: after twenty stairs they reached a landing with a light; another twenty and another landing, but this one’s light was dark. He peered up at the shaft above them. There were half a dozen lights he could see, which meant at least a hundred and twenty stairs. But how many landings were unlit? Assume an equal number… though admittedly he was working from a small sample size… two hundred and forty stairs…

He made it to the third landing and collapsed. His legs felt like water; it was hard to breathe. Kati kept going a few more steps before she realized he was no longer behind her. She turned and shone her light on his face, blinding him, but he was too weak to raise his hand to shield his eyes. The beam shook wildly: she was trembling.

“Come on, Pavel,” she panted. “You can’t stop now, you have to keep going. Come on.”

“I’m sorry,” Chekov said. And he was. He didn’t want to fail her like this, fail himself like this, but he didn’t think he could get up even if someone put a phaser to his head.

She seemed to realize this. “All right,” she said. “It’s all right. We’ll rest for a minute.” She sat on the step above him. She was breathing hard and sweat gleamed on her face. Her sores seemed to be getting worse, and Chekov supposed he was in no better shape.

Her strength shamed him. He had collapsed with no thought what would come next. If he had given it any thought at all, he would have assumed he was collapsing for good, that he would die here on this landing. But she called it a rest and assumed they would get up again. Even if they never took another step, she at least hadn’t given up hope.

“Maybe,” he said weakly, “I would do better if I had a few enhanced genes.”

“Maybe,” Kati said.

“You know, I’m the second-youngest Academy graduate in Starfleet history,” he said. “This is only my third mission. I knew it was dangerous, but I didn’t expect…” He trailed off. He didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“I always wanted to travel through space,” Kati said. “To see other planets—Mars, I thought it would be. That’s why I studied astrophysics. It’s ironic that I came all this way while sleeping, and now that I’m awake I’ve seen nothing but giant cave.” She sounded bitter.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Chekov asked.

“No,” she said. “I’m never afraid.” She paused, and then said, “Almost never.”

“Well, I’m afraid enough for both of us.”

She smiled and nudged him gently with her foot. “Don’t give up yet. You’ve still got some fight in you. I can tell.”


	18. Chapter 18

“That's the Assembly.” Kes pointed to a tall, multi-storied, multi-roofed building beside the canal they were crossing. “The Elders meet there to discuss the running of the city. And that's the Central Archive, over there. It's only a few more blocks to the clinic.”

As she led them through the city, she pointed out major landmarks and explained, piecemeal, some of her people's history. Sometimes Daggin or one of the young farmers who had tagged along chimed in. Kirk recognized the way she spoke from some of the first contact missions he'd been on: she knew they didn't understand her culture, but was so ignorant of their own she didn't know what needed explaining and what didn't. She spent several minutes earnestly describing a technological concept Kirk was perfectly familiar with, then blithely passed over a bizarre religious precept without comment. First contacts were not so common Kirk could feel blasé about them, and he knew he'd screwed this one up from start to finish. If only they had time to do things right...

Sulu looked like he was thinking the same thing, and even Sh’athylnik gazed longingly at the graceful buildings and broad side-streets they passed without pause. Cetran, as usual, seemed politely interested but unruffled, but Khan...

The augment's eyes were wide and intent as he gazed steadily around the city, as though memorizing every line, every face. He looked fascinated, amazed, and Kirk realized with a start that he must have never been on another planet before. Surely Marcus would never have allowed to him to leave Earth. His open curiosity was so natural, so human, that Kirk was again struck by the uncomfortable feeling that they had more in common than not.

Khan caught Kirk staring, and his expression became closed and unreadable. Kirk looked away.

The central clinic was up a level from where they had entered, on an enormous balcony overlooking the city. Inside, the lights were just a little too bright for human eyes and the air was full of an unfamiliar smell that was nonetheless identifiable as the scent of a hospital. Ocampa in white and gray robes moved around purposefully; others in more varied clothes seemed to be patients, though no one appeared seriously ill or injured.

_Bones would love to talk to these people_ , Kirk thought, looking around. _Compare notes._

Kes stopped them in what was probably some kind of waiting room. “Wait here,” she said. “We'll see what we can find out.”

Kirk nodded, and she and Daggin vanished down a hallway. He glanced around the room and tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. The doctors and nurses watched the away team curiously, but no one approached them. Kirk felt more alien than he had almost anywhere else—even in places where the people looked a lot less human than the Ocampa did. Still, there was no hostility in the stares they received. Kirk found it difficult to believe pre-Contact humans would be so calm when faced with a group of aliens in their midst. Maybe it was being cut off from the outside world for so long: the Ocampa had never learned to fear strangers.

“These people are helpless,” Khan said.

_“What?”_

Khan looked briefly surprised that he had spoken aloud; then his face returned to its usual haughty coldness. “They have no defensive or offensive capabilities,” he said, but he kept his voice too low for the Ocampa to overhear. Kirk had to lean closer to hear him. “When the Magog come, they will be utterly destroyed.”

“What makes you so sure the Magog will make it down here?”

Khan gave him a dry, pitying look. Kirk clenched his jaw and turned away. There were still too many unknowns for Kirk to admit that Khan was right—but not enough unknowns to muster a convincing argument against him. He imagined the beautiful city in smoking ruins, the peaceful Ocampa rounded up by Black Claw and his Magog cannibals. The image sickened him.

“And here I thought you were admiring the scenery,” Kirk said bitterly. “I should have known you were planning an invasion.”

“You assume I cannot do both at once.”

Kirk shot him a look, wondering if that was humor in the other man's voice, but Khan's face was as unreadable as ever.

“In any case,” Khan continued, “I was planning a defense, not an attack—or trying to. I am forced to admit this city is nearly indefensible.” When Kirk continued to look skeptical, he said, “This is the… first alien city I have ever seen, Captain. It would be a shame to see it destroyed.”

“You saw the city on the surface,” Kirk said, but he knew he was splitting hairs.

Khan's lip curled. “The Magog are nothing more than scavengers, jackals waiting to pick at the lion's leavings. The Ocampa must have once been a great people—but I think Kes is right. They have lost much through their dependence on the Caretaker.”

A sudden hush fell over the room. Kirk looked around, trying to figure out what had changed, but everyone looked as confused and worried as he felt.

“The pulses have stopped,” Trance said. Her voice was loud and frightened in the silence.

Kirk pulled out his communicator. “Spock, what's going on the with the array?”

_“It's no longer sending out pulses, Captain, and appears to be realigning its position.”_

Whatever the Caretaker was doing, it was in its final stages. Which meant their window finding Kati and Chekov and returning to the array before it did… whatever if was doing… was rapidly vanishing. “Keep me posted. Kirk out.”

Around the reception room, patients were calling out for reassurance; the doctors and nurses had their heads together, whispering. Sh’athylnik’s antennae twitched. “We need to get out of here,” she said.

As if she had summoned them, Kes and Daggin reappeared at a run. “Your friends haven't been seen at the clinic for hours,” Kes said, panting.

“But they were here?” Kirk demanded. “Both of them, alive?”

“A male and female, just like you described,” Kes said. “They had the same sickness as the other aliens the Caretaker sends, but otherwise they were fine.”

“We can search the city,” Daggin offered. “Ask if anyone's seen them.”

Kes’s friends nodded in agreement. “Good,” Kirk said, but inside he was wondering how long that would take. Their Ocampa escort, a dozen strong, hurried away to begin the search, blending smoothly with the rest of the populace. Chekov and Kati could never be so inconspicuous; someone would have seen them, remembered them. Still, Kirk felt a terrible sense of urgency, and couldn’t shake the feeling that they didn’t have time to wander aimlessly around the city until they picked up the trail.

Where would they have gone?

“If they were trying to get to the surface,” he asked, “how would they do it?”

Kes shrugged. “Probably the same way I did: through one of the ancient tunnels.”

But would Chekov and Kati know that? Kirk shook his head, frustrated. They needed to work this problem from both ends. “Mr. Sulu, you and Trance go with Kes and start checking them out. Commander, you and Harrison are with me. We need to talk to every doctor and nurse in this hospital, see what they can tell us about Chekov and Kati.”

A muffled explosion sounded somewhere overhead. The entire building shook. Kirk staggered, almost fell. A small child, not so lucky, lost his footing and careened into Khan’s legs. Someone screamed on the street outside. Kirk snapped open his communicator, but it chirped with an incoming message before he could speak.

“Enterprise _to Kirk._ ”

“Go ahead, Mr. Spock.”

“ _Captain, the array is firing some kind of weapon at the surface. It appears to be trying to seal the energy conduits._ ”

Khan set the child back on his feet and pushed him back toward his mother with a light hand between his shoulder blades. Sh’athylnik, frustrated, said, ““That doesn't make any sense. Why would the Caretaker seal the conduits if they're the only source of the Ocampa's energy?”

“He would seal them if he no longer intended to use them, to protect the Ocampa from their enemies,” Khan said.

“He's dying.”

They were all clustered around Kirk's open communicator. At her words, they all turned to look at Cetran. Her gold eyes were stricken. “What do you mean?” Kirk demanded.

Khan answered for her. “First the Caretaker increased the energy supply to provide the Ocampa with a five-year surplus. Then he seals the conduits. Clearly he does not intend to continue his role as caretaker.”

“How do you know how much energy he’s sent the Ocampa?” Sh’athylnik countered. “And regardless, that doesn't necessarily mean he's dying He could be leaving.”

“ _I must agree with Mr. Harrison, Commander_ ,” Spock said through the communicator. “ _It seems unlikely the Caretaker would simply leave after a millennium of providing for these people. His reference to a debt that can never be repaid would seem to refer to a debt to the Ocampa. Additionally, he made frequent references to running out of time. I believe he knew his death was immanent._ ”

“If he dies,” Sulu wondered aloud, “How the hell are we supposed to get home?”

Good question, Kirk thought. But at the sight of Kes and Daggin's frightened faces, he felt a pang of guilt. It was selfish, or at least tactless, to worry about returning to familiar space in front of people who were facing the potential destruction of their entire civilization.

“Come on,” he said reluctantly. “We need to get moving.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update last week! Life happened, but now I'm back... with foreshadowing!

The first tunnel Kes led them to was a bust. At the base of the second tunnel—a steeply-sloping passage that meandered drunkenly, lit only intermittently by weak lights—Sulu stopped to adjust his tricorder. He didn't want to waste time walking all the way to the end of the tunnel, but he didn't want to risk missing Chekov and Kati, either. He hoped making a few tweaks to the tricorder's scanning function would extend its range, and was in the middle of a particularly delicate adjustment when Trance said, “Harrison's not part of your crew, is he?”

“Not... no, not really,” he answered, distracted. _If I narrow the scanning parameters..._ Of course, with the way the captain kept allowing Khan on away missions, he could see how Trance might get the wrong impression.

“Is he a passenger, then?”

“You could say that.” _Now boost the power flow..._ He supposed a prisoner was a kind of passenger.

“He seems different than the rest of the Federations I've met so far.”

“I don't know how you can tell,” Kes said, as Sulu started a new scan. “They're _all_ different.” Her voice filled with wonder. “Different colors, different shapes—I never thought I'd see so many different kinds of people.”

“They're not in this one, either,” Sulu interrupted. He snapped his tricorder shut. “Where do we go next?”

They retraced their steps from the tunnel mouth, through a little-used service corridor, and out into the open of a quiet side street. Kes pointed along the wall of the main cavern. “The next tunnel is about half a _kel_ that way,” she said.

Sulu resisted the urge to check his chrono. He felt the urgency of each passing minute, an urgency increased by the way the cavern occasionally trembled from the Caretaker's assault. He had no idea how much a _kel_ was, but he hoped it wasn't far.

“We'd better hurry,” he said, starting down the street in the direction Kes indicated.

“Just a moment,” Trance said. “Kes, how many tunnels are left?”

“Five that I know of. Why?”

“Can you show us?”

“Of course.”

Kes led them to the nearest intersection, where a tall metal-and-stone pillar stood in the center of the cross-streets. There were more people here, hurrying on some errand or huddled in doorways, talking. They seemed remarkably calm. Sulu wondered if they didn't yet know what was happening, or if they simply had absolute faith in the Caretaker.

The pillar turned out to be some kind of public computer terminal. Kes tapped a panel on its surface and a large section of what Sulu had taken for metal brightened and displayed a map of the city. She pointed to a few spots around the perimeter of the cavern.

“These are the access points to the tunnels. These two here are the ones we've already checked.”

Sulu gauged the distances between the tunnels and groaned. They had a lot of ground to cover.

Trance slid her finger over the smooth surface of the pillar and stopped at one of the points Kes had pointed out. “Let's check this one next.”

“That one?” Sulu said. “That one's all the way across the city! If they're not there, we'll have to waste time backtracking to check the remaining tunnels. We should go here next.” He pointed to the next tunnel closer to them.

“Here,” Trance insisted. “I… have a good feeling about this.”

“A feeling isn't much to go on,” Sulu said.

Kes offered a small, shy smile. “I've learned to trust her feelings. Come on, this way is fastest.”

Resigned, Sulu followed the two women down the street. Ahead of him, he heard Kes ask, “Why are you so interested in Harrison, anyway?”

Trance flicked her tail in a gesture Sulu couldn't interpret. “He just seems... familiar, that's all.”

* * *

_“Sulu to Kirk.”_

“Excuse me,” Kirk said to the Ocampa doctor he was speaking to, and turned away to give himself a little privacy. The doctor took the opportunity to slip away, clearly uninterested in continuing to be questioned by the aliens. “Kirk here.”

Sulu's excited voice rang tinnily from his communicator. _“We've found them, Captain! They're in one of the tunnels. I can't see them yet, but they're up there. We're going after them.”_

Relief rushed through him, leaving him light-headed. Beside him, Khan visibly relaxed, though he didn't entirely lose his wary poise. “I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said. “Call for transport when you have them. We'll meet you on the ship. Kirk to Enterprise.”

“Enterprise _here._ ”

“Three to beam up.”

 _“Stand by.”_ There was a pause, and then Spock said, “ _Captain, we are unable to get a lock on you. The weapons fire from the array has irradiated the planet's crust. The transport sensors cannot locate the breaches in the security barrier._ ”

“Can you adjust the sensors to compensate?”

Another pause. “ _Mr. Scott believes it may be possible with significant recalibration of the sensors._ ”

Recalibrations that would no doubt take time, and lots of it. Sh’athylnik said something the Universal Translator refused to render, but Kirk happened to know was a particularly foul Andorian swearword.

“Tell him to keep working on the engines,” Kirk said. “There's another way out of here. Kirk to Sulu.”

“ _Sulu here._ ”

“Change of plans. Where are you, exactly?”


	20. Chapter 20

_Climbing the longest staircase I've even seen_ , Sulu thought. _That's where I am_. But he didn't say it out loud, because he needed to save his breath. Unlike the previous two tunnels, which had sloped up toward the surface, the one Trance's “feeling” led them to was a circular vertical shaft. A crumbling metal staircase clung to the walls and spiraled up into darkness. The structure creaked alarmingly when they put their weight on it and shuddered with every blast from the Caretaker's array. Occasional lights picked out small landings high above him; far below, the entrance to the tunnel was already nothing more than a dim glow. Starfleet Academy's physical training and hours spent sparring with the rapier had prepared him for this—but only barely.

The air was warm and stale, and the sweat beading his brow did not evaporate. Kes was in no better shape, but Trance, Sulu noted sourly, was barely out of breath. She was a few steps ahead of him, which put her rear at eye level. He wished Chekov was with him, so at least one of them could enjoy the view.

Sulu breathlessly described the location of the tunnel entrance. Kirk acknowledged his directions, and added, _“The transporters aren't working. You're going to have to find a breach in the security barrier when you get to the top.”_

“Understood.”

_“We're a few minutes behind you. Kirk out.”_

Sulu craned his neck and saw a spot of light moving several turns of the staircase above him. At first he thought it was one of the wall lamps, shaking from the force of the blasts, but then he realized it was a flashlight. Someone was waving it feebly, trying to signal him.

“I see them!” Sulu shouted. He shouldered past Trance and ran up the stairs. After two flights his legs and lungs screamed at him, but he pressed on. Another blast rocked the tunnel, and he fell badly, scraping his hands and face against the corrugated metal steps. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled back to his feet and raced up the last flight.

Chekov and a strange dark-haired woman were slumped on one of the landings. They both looked terrible, their skin dusty and covered with weeping sores. It was a shock to see Chekov, always so bright and full of energy, lying listlessly against the wall, his eyes dull and his face slack. He managed a ghost of a smile when he saw Sulu.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered.

Sulu slipped his arm under Chekov's shoulder and pulled the younger man to feet. “It's not my fault you ran off with a pretty girl and made me chase you down.”

“Can you blame me?” Chekov groaned, staggering as Sulu pulled him along. “She is _very_ pretty.”

She was very pretty, Sulu noticed: perfectly beautiful in the same way Harrison was perfectly handsome. A little too perfect, he thought, as Trance helped her to her feet and wrapped a supporting arm around her waist. He put it out of his mind; they had more important things to worry about.

With his free hand he pulled out his communicator. “Sulu to Kirk.”

_“Kirk here.”_

“We found them, Captain.”

_“Good work, Sulu. We're at the base of the tunnel, but don't wait for us. Get them to safety.”_

“Acknowledged.”

Kes slipped past Trance and Sulu and led the way up the staircase. “Don't worry, I'm sure we can get out.”

The next few minutes crawled by in a blaze of aching muscles and burning lungs. Chekov was slender and tried to help, but he was mostly dead weight and climbing a staircase for two was twice as hard as climbing it alone. Behind him, he heard Trance panting for breath and felt some small satisfaction in the fact that she was struggling, too.

The stairs ended so suddenly that Sulu almost fell when he tried to put his foot down on a step that wasn't there. He caught himself against the wall and looked up from his feet. A narrow tunnel, blessedly flat but completely dark, stretched ahead a short distance and then made a sharp turn. Kes was already turning the corner, and Sulu hurried to keep up. After a few more turns, he saw a flickering light ahead. Chekov raised his flashlight, illuminating a force field that stretched across the tunnel. Along one side, a rockfall had created a narrow gap between the edge of the forcefield and the rock wall.

Kes pressed herself against the wall and began inching toward the forcefield. “Whatever you do, don't touch it,” she warned. “We've been told it will burn your skin off.”

She slipped easily through the small opening. One on either side, she and Trance helped Kati through, then Chekov. Trance went next, and then it was Sulu's turn. Sulu wasn't a large man, but the edge of the forcefield pressed uncomfortably close to his face and chest. He could feel it crackling centimeters from his body, like the universe's worst static charge. He wondered how well Kirk and Harrison would get through. Maybe, he thought wryly, they would just have to leave Harrison behind.

Once he was through the barrier, Chekov sat heavily on a boulder and leaned against the wall, panting and shaking. Kati managed to stay on her feet, but swayed unsteadily. Trance looked worriedly at them both and pulled Sulu aside.

“I don’t think they can go much further,” she said.

“Wait here,” Sulu told her. “I'll scout ahead a bit.”

He jogged down the tunnel, hoping the end wasn't far. The ground began to slope up again, but gently. His flashlight beam bounced off a jumble of rock head: the tunnel was blocked by a cave-in. He pushed off the first rush of panic and checked his tricorder. Only a few meters of rock separated him from the open air.

“This is it!” he shouted. “We've reached the top.”

The others came stumbling up, Chekov and Kati supported by Trance and Kes. Sulu pointed to the ceiling. “Trance, get out your phaser. We should be able to punch through.”

Trance leaned Chekov against the wall and pulled her weapon from her belt. Sulu set his phaser to maximum and together they fired at the top of the rockslide. Twin lines of red light lanced toward the rock, and were immediately obscured by billowing dust. A bone-rattling roar shook the tunnel as rocks tumbled and crashed to the ground.

When the rock fall was over, Sulu covered his mouth with his sleeve and inched through the blinding dust. His foot found the first boulder, and he began climbing by touch. Rocks shifted under his feet, his hands. He reached cautiously upward again and again, until his fingers felt nothing but open air. He dragged himself onto some unseen flat, gritty surface, and opened his eyes in a squint. Through a thick fog of dust, he could see hazy sunlight. He was on the surface.

With Trance pushing from below and Sulu pulling from above, they managed to get Chekov and Kati up the rockfall. Chekov crawled a couple of meters away and collapsed onto the dirt; Kati kept her feet, but leaned heavily against Trance. While Kes hurried to kneel beside Chekov, Sulu pulled out his communicator.

“Sulu to _Enterprise._ Can you get a lock on us now?”

_“Affirmative,”_ Spock said. _“But I am only reading five signals. What is the captain's status?”_

“The others are—” Sulu began.

“Look out!” Trance shouted, and threw herself at Kes.

Sulu flung himself down, but he was too late: a bolt of light lanced down from the sky and struck the ground a few meters away. The force of the impact caught him, and the next moment he was lying on the ground, his ears ringing and his mouth full of dust and the coppery taste of blood. He staggered to his feet and looked around wildly. The others were huddled nearby, shaken but unharmed. From the shaft they had just climbed out of, a cloud of dust billowed toward the sky.

He snatched up his communicator from where it had fallen. “Sulu to Kirk, come in! Sh’athylnik? ...Harrison, do you copy?” Silence. “ _Enterprise_ , prepare to transport everyone in this group except me.”

Trance stood up, brushed dust off her lavender skin. “Are you going back for them?”

“Yes. I have to.”

Her gold eyes, usually playful, were piercing. He thought she was going to demand to accompany him, but her gaze went distant and she smiled slightly. “Good,” she said.

Sulu blinked, not sure what had happened but somehow reassured by it. “ _Enterprise,_ energize.”

He climbed back down into the shaft, and did not wait to see them dissolve into light.


	21. Chapter 21

The explosion seemed to go on forever. Kirk pressed himself against the wall of the shaft, feeling the stone tremble against his body. Under his feet the metal stair shook violently, and he heard the shriek of tearing metal, the crack of supports snapping. Above him, a light exploded in shower of sparks; bright pricks of pain scorched his skin as darkness fell around him.

When it was over, he cautiously lifted his head and tried to assess the damage. Many of the antiquated lights were now dark, leaving the shaft even dimmer than before, but he could see that the stretch of staircase below him was simply gone, torn free of the wall by the force of the blast from the Caretaker's array. Above him...

Sh’athylnik lay sprawled across the steps, Khan kneeling beside her. Kirk's first, wild thought was that Khan had attacked her, but then he saw Khan had his fingers pressed against her neck, frowning as he checked for a pulse. Kirk staggered up to join them and reached out to touch Sh’athylnik’s jaw, near her ear.

“The best place to check for a pulse on an Andorian is here,” Kirk said. He could feel her heartbeat, strong and steady and deeply reassuring.

The frown cleared from Khan's face. “I see,” he said.

A smear of blue darkened the white-silk hair at the back of Sh’athylnik’s skull. Kirk probed the wound cautiously, mindful of what Bones would say if he overstepped the bounds of his field first-aid training, but the damage seemed superficial. She groaned faintly, but did not wake.

“Captain!”

It was Sulu, bounding recklessly down the stairs. Kirk stood up quickly. “Where are the others?” he demanded.

“Back aboard the _Enterprise_ ,” Sulu said. He checked at the sight of Sh’athylnik’s still body. “Is she—?”

“She's fine,” Kirk said, hoping it was true. “Grab her shoulders; I'll take her feet.”

Together they lifted her and began climbing the last few flights of stairs. The metal creaked alarmingly under their weight; in a few places, Kirk could see where the bolts fastening it to the wall were bent or broken. Khan trailed silently behind them. He could probably have carried Sh’athylnik alone without difficulty, but he didn't offer and Kirk didn't ask.

Kirk had one foot on the solid stone at the top of the staircase when the next bolt struck. The metal structure beneath him twisted violently, and he had just enough thought to release Sh’athylnik's feet before he dragged her down with him. Then he was falling, tumbling, as all around him metal shrieked and shattered. He rolled down half of flight of stairs, fetched up against the railing, and felt the railing give way. The dark pit of shaft yawned below him; he grabbed desperately for something, anything, and caught the edge of a riser. He flung himself back toward the safety of the wall, but a wide gap separated the edge of the staircase from the stone. Unable to check his momentum, he jerked away from the precipice and crashed down the rest of the flight of stairs. The rough metal scraped his skin bloody, and when he finally fetched up against the landing he felt something snap in his leg with a sickening stab of pain.

He lay there for a moment, the metal cold and gritty under his cheek, savoring the sensation of being alive and trying not to think about just how bad things had just become. Eventually, he forced himself to roll onto his back and figure out what had happened.

The top flight of stairs was no longer attached to the wall. It arched into the center shaft, barely anchored to the landing on which Kirk lay. Trying to climb it would send it crashing to the bottom of the shaft, and at any rate in no longer led anywhere but empty air. He eyed the wall to which it had been attached, wondering if he could climb it. The rock was rough and studded with metal bolts, and he thought he could just manage it—if his throbbing leg would let him.

He sat up gingerly and discovered he was not alone on the landing. Khan stood beside the twisted railing, studying the stair above them. It was too much to hope, he thought, that Khan might have fallen to his death. Kirk couldn't see so much as a scratch on him. He tamped down a wave of jealousy. Aside from his leg—which he suspected was broken—he ached from head to toe and could feel blood from his lacerated back soaking into the shredded remnants of his uniform. A little genetic engineering sounded tempting right now.

“Captain!” Sulu's face appeared over the edge of the stone landing above. “Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine,” Kirk lied. “How's Sh’athylnik?”

“She'll have a few new bruises when she wakes up, but otherwise she's alright.”

“Good. Get her up to the surface and return to the _Enterprise_.” Another shock, distant, rocked the shaft and made the staircase above him swing wildly. “Before this place collapses around you!”

Sulu didn't move. “What about you, sir?”

“Let me worry about that—go. That's an order!”

With obvious reluctance, Sulu vanished from sight. Kirk sat back with a sigh. If the shaft collapsed and killed him, at least he would die knowing Sulu and the others were out of harm's way—and that Khan would die with him.

Belatedly, he realized he hadn't ordered Sulu not to come _back_ once he'd delivered Sh’athylnik to the _Enterprise_. He considered the odds that Sulu _wouldn't_ return with an entire rescue party, and decided they were low. It was certainly what he would do in Sulu's position. He grasped for his communicator, but it had fallen out of its pouch sometime during his tumble down the stairs. He scanned the landing, but saw only debris—and Khan, who watched him with cool eyes.

Uncomfortable under that assessing gaze, Kirk struggled to stand. Khan moved toward him, and Kirk almost reached for his phaser. But Khan only grabbed Kirk's elbow and pulled him to his feet as if he weighed nothing. 

Kirk cautiously tested his bad leg, and pain shot from his calf to his spine, strong enough to make him gasp. He swayed, and would have fallen if Khan hadn't kept hold of his elbow.

“Is it broken?” Khan asked. He sounded only mildly curious, as if he didn't care on way or the other.

“I think so.” 

Another strike, distant this time, shook the shaft, making the staircase above them sway. Small pieces of debris rained down on them. Kirk guessed the shaft was mere minutes from collapsing; any rescue party would be nothing but a suicide mission. He pulled away from Khan's grip and looked up at the rock wall again. Khan, he felt sure, would have no trouble climbing it.

“I know you have no reason to do me any favors,” he said, quickly, because he had a lot of convincing to do and not much time, “But when you get to the surface, you need to tell my crew not to send anyone down after me.” A faint frown appeared between Khan's brows. Kirk didn't know if that meant he was getting through to him or not. “They won't believe you at first, but tell Spock—tell him—” 

He struggled to think what would convince Spock the message had truly come from him and wasn't merely a trick on Khan's part.

“You can tell him yourself,” Khan said.

Kirk gritted his teeth. This wasn't the response he expected, and he didn't have time for it. Surely Khan could see the reality of the situation? Kirk didn't think he was the kind of man who would offer a pleasant lie to spare someone's feelings.

Another blast rocked the shaft, closer than the last. The landing shook violently.

“The only way out of here is by climbing up that wall,” Kirk said. “And there's no way I can make it. I can't let my people throw away their lives trying to rescue me when this shaft is about to collapse, so I need—I'm _asking_ you to take them a message from me.”

“There's no need for such heroics on you part,” Khan said. “I can carry you up the wall of the shaft.”

Kirk stared at him. “No, you can't.”

The corners of Khan's mouth softened into an almost-smile. “I assure you, Kirk, I can.”

Kirk looked up at the wall again. Without a broken leg, he could manage it. Barely. With someone hanging off his back, pulling his center of gravity backward... it would be impossible. After seeing Khan take out an entire Klingon platoon, he was willing to believe Khan might just be able to pull it off, but he wasn't willing to believe it would be easy.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why would you risk your life for me?”

Khan was silent for a long moment. A distant blast made the shaft tremble, not as strongly as last time, but somewhere a metal bolt snapped with a ping and the landing creaked. Kirk wanted to tell Khan to hurry, but he was afraid if he spoke now he would never hear the answer.

“Perhaps,” Khan said, “perhaps... I believe you may be the one who can save us all.”

There was nothing Kirk could say to that. Expressions of confidence from Bones and the others were one thing; they were his friends and his crew, and while Kirk would never assume such faith from them, it didn't surprise him. To hear those words from the man Kirk had tried so hard to see as nothing but a savage killer and lab-bred monster, the man he had chased across the galaxy intending to arrest or worse, was incomprehensible.

“We don't have time for this,” Khan said, interrupting Kirk's thoughts. He half-turned, showing Kirk his back. “Grab my shoulders so we can get out of here.”

Kirk limped over and reluctantly wrapped his arms around Khan's shoulders, like a child getting a piggy-back ride. He didn't want to get close to Khan, didn't want to owe his life to the man who had killed Admiral Pike, but wanted to die even less. Khan took his weight like it was nothing and reached for his first handhold.

The next few minutes were agony for Kirk. The only thing worse than climbing a sheer rock wall while repeated energy blasts tried to shake you off, he realized, was hanging helplessly onto another person's back while he climbed. Khan was clearly a competent climber, but Kirk's dead weight threatened to drag him backward despite his enhanced strength, and there was nothing Kirk could do about it. 

Every few seconds a new blast rattled the shaft. Most of them were faint—aimed at other gaps, Kirk supposed—but a few were close enough to threaten Khan's tenuous grip. One caught Khan just as he was reaching for an especially tricky handhold. The whole shaft rocked under the impact and they skidded half a meter down the wall before Khan caught a new grip. Kirk clung desperately to Khan's back, trying not to strangle him while Khan scrabbled for footholds and falling rocks rattled off Kirk's shoulders. In the shaft behind them, the hanging segment of staircase finally tore free of the landing and careened into the darkness below.

When they were finally on solid ground again, Kirk immediately released Khan's shoulders and put some distance between them. He almost screamed in pain when he accidentally put weight on his bad leg, and then almost fell when a fresh explosion rocked the landing. Khan grabbed his arm and half-dragged, half-carried deeper into the tunnel that stretched before them. He tried to get his good leg under him, but Khan was moving too fast. Before he could protest, the tunnel behind them collapsed with a roar and a cloud of dust.

After that, Khan slowed his pace enough for Kirk to limp along, one arm around Khan's shoulders. All the lights in this section of tunnels had stopped working, but Kirk's palm-light had survived his fall and they picked their way through the falling rubble by its harsh light. 

After a few twists of the tunnel, they saw half a dozen answering lights ahead of them. The lights ran forward and resolved themselves into Sulu, accompanied by McCoy and four Security personnel.

“Not that I'm not glad to see you, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said, as Bones crouched beside him and began scanning his leg, muttering under his breath, “But didn't I order you to return to the _Enterprise_?”

“Respectfully, sir, you didn't order me not to come back after I returned to the _Enterprise_.”

Kirk sighed. From around his knees, Bones said, “Jim, this leg is broken.”

“You don't say.”

Bones stood up and dusted off the knees of his trousers. “Sarcasm won't help, you know,” he said mildly. “An osteoregenerator will, but—” the tunnel shook violently “—we don't have time for that right now.”

“We're almost at the top,” Sulu said. “If we hurry, we might make it out alive.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad people liked seeing Kirk and Khan together. Way way back when I first started writing this, that was one of the first scenes I imagined. The entire story kinda turned into figuring out how to get them to that point.

There was a stretcher waiting for Kirk in the Transporter Room and McCoy hustled him off to Sickbay the moment he stepped off the pad. Kirk protested this treatment to no avail, and he was still discussing the issue with McCoy—who called it whining even though it definitely wasn’t—when they passed through the Sickbay doors. Kirk lost the thread of his argument when he spotted Chekov sitting on a biobed, looking pale and exhausted but definitely alive. A slim dark-haired woman, who Kirk assumed must be Kati, sat on the bed next to his. They were speaking quietly together, but they both looked up when Kirk came in. Chekov managed a smile and a weak wave. The woman just looked wary.

“What's wrong with them?” Kirk asked as McCoy ran the osteoregenerator over his leg. He could see the angry sores on their skin, but they looked otherwise unharmed.

“I'm still working on it,” Bones said. “It looks like some kind viral infection. Something's trying to re-write their cellular structure by recombining their DNA with... something else.”

Kirk suppressed the urge to claw at his leg; the regenerator made him feel like his bone marrow was suddenly full of crawling ants. “Can you fix it?”

“I think so. It should be just a matter of finding the right antiviral.”

McCoy didn’t sound as confident as Kirk would like, but saying so wouldn’t help. “Is it contagious?”

“Not at all.” McCoy gave Kirk's leg a quick scan with his medical tricorder and grunted in satisfaction. “That's it, you're done. I'd tell you to rest and stay off that leg for a few days, but I know you won't listen so I won't bother.”

“Thanks, Bones.” Kirk slid off the biobed. “I promise I'll take a nice vacation as soon as we get back to Earth.”

He picked his way across Sickbay, which was still more crowded than usual even a day after their catastrophic arrival in the Delta Quadrant. One corner had been partitioned off with temporary panels to create a private room. As Kirk watched, Christine Chapel slipped through the doorway and he caught a glimpse of Admiral Marcus lying on the biobed, looking small and sunken.

“How is he?” Kirk asked her.

Chapel gave him a cool look. “Oh, are you talking to me now?”

“What?”

“Sorry,” she said. “Are you talking to me now, _sir?_ ”

“What—I—” Kirk caught himself before he started stammering. It was true he and Christine had had a fling in the Academy and it hadn’t ended as well as it could have, but he hadn’t expected this response from her. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Oh.” Her expression softened—a little. “Well, in that case, he’s not doing well at all.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “Was there anything else, Captain? I need to return to my duties.”

“No, thank you, Nurse.” As she turned to leave, Kirk said quickly, “It’s good to see you, Christine.”

She hesitated with her back to him, and Kirk wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. But then she turned a little and offered him a half-smile. “You, too, Jim.”

Chekov was waiting for him with a bright, if strained, smile on his face. “Captain!” he exclaimed as Kirk came over. “I’m glad to see you!”

Kirk felt an answering grin spread across his own face. “I'm glad to see you, too. Who's your new friend?”

Kati stood, very formal, and offered Kirk her hand. “Katariina Tuule Tormis.”

Kirk accepted the handshake without thinking. Her hand felt small and strong in Kirk’s own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Kirk said automatically. Despite her slender build there was an aura of fierce power around her. At another time she would probably be force to be reckoned with, but right now she just looked tired and sick. Kirk invited her to sit and she did.

“Kati is an astrophysicist,” Chekov offered.

“An astrophysicist,” Kirk repeated. He had trouble picturing this petite, pretty scientist blowing up buildings and opening fire on rooms full of innocent people. Maybe she had hidden depths. Maybe Marcus had lied about Khan's people. Maybe he should post a security detail in Sickbay. “This must all be very confusing for you.”

“Pavel told me about... everything,” she said, with the faintest trace of helplessness and frustration in her voice. “Captain, whatever Khan has done... I'm sure there must be some kind of misunderstanding.”

She met Kirk's gaze steadily, but she was much easier to read than Khan. She had no trouble believing everything Khan had done, and she was still completely loyal to him. It told him a lot about her—and a lot about Khan. He would post that Security detail, after all.

“I hope you're right,” he said, because it was the easiest thing to say to her. He was beginning to accept that there may have been some kind of _misunderstanding_ , as Kati put it, but it didn't change what Khan was, or what he had done. “You two should get some rest.”

Outside Sickbay he practically ran into four Security crewmen right outside the door. For a second he thought Matlock had anticipated his order and already sent a detail to Sickbay. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened. Then he remembered Matlock was dead and Mendoza was Chief of Security now.

“Sorry, Captain,” the man in front—it was Hendorff—said. “He insisted on seeing you.”

Over his shoulder Kirk saw Khan, flanked by two more crewmen. Kirk gritted his teeth. He had ordered Khan returned to the brig, but it seemed his crew was no longer sure whether Khan was a criminal under arrest or an unusually dangerous guest. After his rescue, Kirk was beginning to doubt a little, himself.

Kirk met the augment's eyes. “What do you want?” The struggle to balance his hatred and his gratitude left his voice colorless, flat, even to his own ears.

Khan's gaze slid past him, to the Sickbay door. “How is Kati?”

Of course. Kirk could have kicked himself. “She's fine. Well, not quite fine, but Dr. McCoy thinks he can sort her out.” He hesitated, but it would be cruel not to offer, cruel to make Khan beg. “Would you like to see her?”

As if summoned by his name, the door slid open and McCoy stuck his head out. “There's a call for you on the comm,” he said to Kirk, His eyes lingered on Khan.

“Thanks.” To Khan he said, “You may as well come in.”

The six of them trooped into Sickbay, Kirk and Khan and the Security detail. McCoy looked like he would have liked to protest, but Kirk sent him a sharp look on the way to the comm, and he subsided. Khan went straight to Kati, who sprang to her feet and, to Kirk's surprise, flung her arms around him. Khan returned the embrace, gently stroking Kati's black hair. Kirk turned away and busied himself with the comm panel, feeling like an intruder in a private moment.

“ _Captain_ ,” Spock said, when Kirk called the Bridge. “ _Welcome back._ ”

That was probably as close to _I'm glad you didn't die_ as Spock could get, and Kirk smiled to hear it. “Thank you, Mr. Spock. What's our status?”

“ _Our scanners have picked up two Magog ships approaching the array._ ”

Of course the Magog would have noticed the sudden change in activity. “Set a course to intercept them at the array. I'm on my way.”

He switched off the comm and turned to Khan, who was speaking quietly to Kati and completely ignoring the four armed guards hovering around him. Chekov, Kirk noticed, had edged to the far side of his biobed and was eying Khan nervously.

“Mr. Harrison,” Kirk said. Khan and Kati both turned toward him, Khan inscrutable, Kati with relief fading to wariness. “I regret to interrupt your reunion, but I must insist that Mr. Hendorff escort you to the Brig now.”

Kati tensed and looked to Khan. Kirk tensed, too, wondering how this would play out. Astrophysicist or no, if Kati was a strong as Khan she could be an incredibly dangerous opponent. The two of them together would pose a major threat.

But Khan only said, “A reasonable request, Captain. But I have one of my own. I would like to accompany you to the Bridge.”

It was a terrible idea, and Kirk almost refused it outright. Allowing him access to the Bridge, even under guard—it was madness. But Khan _had_ saved his life, and he seemed to feel Kirk had a shot at getting them out of this, so maybe he genuinely wanted to help.

Or maybe this was just him setting up his endgame, laying traps far in advance of the moves Kirk could anticipate.

_Maybe, maybe, maybe_. Kirk wasn't used to doubting himself like this. He was used to knowing what he wanted, knowing what he needed to do to get it, and then _doing_ it. But Bones was right: he was too close to this, too close to Khan, to Marcus. He couldn't think straight.

He glanced at McCoy, who was watching the exchange with undisguised interest. McCoy shrugged and grimaced, which might mean he thought it wasn't a bad idea, or might mean he thought it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Kirk sighed.

“Alright,” he said. “Hendorff, you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Christine Chapel is supposed to be somewhere else during STiD and that Kirk apparently doesn't even remember her, but she just sort of showed up while I was writing this chapter and I'm always down for including more female characters so I didn't make her to leave. Also, Kirk may get around but he's not a douchebag and in TOS he has a great memory for all of his, ah, female acquaintances, so I can't see him forgetting Christine. Also also, I like the idea of giving Carol a little competition for Kirk, but I swear it's not going to turn into one of *those* stories where all the women are super jealous and hate each other, because I can't stand those stories, either.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter introduces, in passing, our first Sulamid, which is a species from Diane Duane's Star Trek novels--lots of tentacles! I love Diane Duane's books :)

It took them a little over two hours at maximum impulse to reach the Array. Kirk spent the time in the Captain's chair, going over reports. Damage reports, repair reports, crew assignments, casualty lists... these last were the worst. He'd seen the preliminary casualty lists on the way to the Ocampa planet, but the numbers had climbed since then, as more names were changed from “Missing” or “Critical Condition” to “Deceased.” The damage reports were little better: critical systems badly damaged, parts needed that could not be fabricated, fuel supplies low. Repairs were slow, hindered by the lack of experienced crew to effect them. It was grim reading, and Kirk held back despair only with the hope that they would soon return to Federation space and safety.

He had stuck Khan at an unmanned Engineering station, though only after deactivating all the panels. The augment sat quietly, watching the Bridge crew go about their duties with the air of a man on a park bench watching people go by on a lazy weekend morning. If he was bored or impatient he gave no sign of it, and Kirk wondered what he was thinking. 

_Probably plotting all our deaths_ , Kirk thought wryly.

“The Magog vessels are entering visual range now, Captain,” Spock said, interrupting his grim musings. 

“Onscreen.”

The main viewer, which had been showing a schematic of their intercept course, switched to a live view, greatly magnified, of the Array, still firing energy blasts at the planet. A short distance away, the Vengeance drifted, dead and dark. Two vessels of the same crouching-insect design Kirk had seen on the planet surface were converging on the Array. One the Enterprise had followed from the planet; the other must have come from some other nearby Magog outpost. They were small compared to the Enterprise, only two or three times the size of her shuttlecraft. Unless their weapons were far superior to Federation technology, Kirk didn’t think they posed any threat—and considering what he had seen so far of Delta Quadrant tech, and Magog tech in particular—that didn’t seem likely.

“Red alert,” he ordered. “Bring the weapons online.”

The bridge darkened as alarms whooped throughout the ship. Sulu reported the phaser and torpedo banks were at half power, which Kirk supposed was a minor miracle on Scotty's part. He hoped the Magog would be intimidated by the difference in size between their ships and back down before this escalated—a hope that was immediately dashed when one of the ships made a pass at the Array, firing quick bursts of phasers. The attack was stopped by some kind of shield that flickered into view around the Array, but Kirk knew it hadn’t been a serious attempt. The Magog were testing the Caretaker, looking for a weakness.

“Hail them.”

There was a long pause, long enough to cause Kirk to glance at Uhura. She shook her head and said, “There’s no response—wait, here it is.”

“Put it through.”

Black Claw’s hideous face appeared on the viewscreen. Some of the crewmen, those who hadn’t yet met Rev Bem, recoiled or actually gasped. Behind him, Kirk could make out a vague, shadowy space filled with movement. Magog, he realized, dozens of Magog, shoving, crawling, swarming together in the too-small space. How many, he wondered sickly, were packed into those two ships?

And why? What kind of ship could possibly need so large a crew?

“Do you wish to beg for your life?” Black Claw said, before Kirk could speak. “I do not usually let food slip through my claws, but I might spare you in return for the technology you showed us.”

He was lying, but not like he was trying very hard. He spoke the words as though he were reading a script, like someone had told him this was how to get “food” to do what he wanted and he didn’t care whether they believed him or not.

“I’m not giving you anything,” Kirk said, “except a warning. Keep away from the Array.”

Black Claw skinned his lips back from his teeth. “So you can take the Caretaker’s technology for yourself? I think not. We will not permit you to board the Array.”

“We’re not interested in his technology,” Kirk said. “All we want is to return home.”

“You’re wasting you time,” Khan said from the upper level of the bridge. Kirk didn’t turn. He refused to give Khan that satisfaction, but everyone else on the bridge stared at him in shock. Interrupting the captain’s conversation was so unimaginable there wasn’t even a rule against it. “They won’t listen. They only want one thing, and it’s nothing you’re willing to bargain for.”

Khan was out of range of the vid pickup, but his words obviously carried to Black Claw’s ears. The Magog began hissing rhythmically—laughing, Kirk realized. “Listen to your underling,” Black Claw growled, amused. Apparently he was done lying. “He clearly understands us far better than you do.”

The image cut out.

Kirk rounded on Khan. “What the hell—”

“They're powering up their weapons,” Spock said.

“Shields,” Kirk snapped, grateful for the interruption. It would be unprofessional, at best, to tear into Khan in the middle of the bridge, and he didn’t think crew morale would be improved by him losing his temper.

The Magog's first shot struck the _Enterprise_ , but Kirk knew even before Spock reported in that the shields were holding. Their attack seemed foolish, even suicidal, considering how outmatched they were by the _Enterprise_. A small, dark part of Kirk wanted to give the order to destroy them. He remembered the palisade on the Ocampa world, the severed arm, the bruises on Kes’s body. They wouldn’t stand a chance against the _Enterprise’s_ phasers and torpedoes.

He couldn’t do it. In a fair fight… but it wasn’t a fair fight. As much as he despised the Magog, he couldn’t slaughter them. As much as he believed the quadrant would be better off without Black Claw, that wasn’t his decision to make. _It’s not our fight._

“Sh’athylnik and I will beam over to the Array,” he said. “Uhura, have her meet me in Transporter Room One. Spock, you have the bridge. You'll have to hold the Magog off while you drop shields to beam us over.” Kirk glanced at Sulu. “Think you can manage that?”

Sulu smiled briefly. He, too, had taken the measure of the Magog ships and was confident of their odds. “I think so, Captain.”

“You’re a fool,” Khan said harshly. “Showing those creatures mercy is a mistake, Kirk—”

“Mr. Hendorff,” Kirk said over him, “escort Mr. Harrison back to the brig.”

Khan stood and took a step toward Kirk. Hendorff and the other security officers drew their phasers, but Khan ignored them. “You cannot claim this isn’t your concern,” he pressed. “Everything you have done since you came to this quadrant has had consequences for the people in it. Pretending otherwise is to pretend you are powerless when you are simply cowardly.”

Uhura made a low, angry noise. Sulu sprang to his feet and said, “Say that again, you son of a—”

“Mr. Sulu!” Kirk said loudly. “Return to your station.”

Sulu sank reluctantly into his chair. Khan watched him with an expression of equal parts amusement and respect. Kirk realized, again, that it was becoming easier and easier for him to read Khan’s impassive face.

“Mr. Harrison, I am ordering you to return to the brig.” When he made no move, Kirk pressed, “You gave me your word, Khan. Just how much is that worth?”

All eyes on the Bridge were turned toward Khan, waiting to see what he would do. Hendorff was still pointing his phaser at Khan, his hand steady. Khan's eyes, locked with Kirk's, narrowed, then relaxed.

“Very well, Captain,” he said coldly, and followed Hendorff into the lift.

Kirk caught the next lift down, wondering, worrying, planning. Had Khan given in too easily? Was he planning something? What would he do if the Caretaker refused to send them back to the Alpha Quadrant? And if they made it back, what then? What would Kirk do with Khan and his fifty-eight sleeping crewmen?

Sh’athylnik was already waiting in the transporter room. Kirk sketched out the plan—what there was of it—while they waited for Spock to lower the shields so they could beam out. He could feel, faintly, the g-force pushing and pulling him as the ship swung through patterns of attack and evasion; the inertial dampers must have been damaged by the Caretaker's wave.

“ _Bridge to Transporter Room One._ ” Uhura's voice came through the comm panel at the transporter console. “ _Standby to transport in five seconds._ ”

The ensign at the console, a Sulamid who continually checked and re-checked his controls with his dozens of writhing tentacles, acknowledged the message. Kirk and Sh’athylnik climbed onto the transporter pad.

“ _Energize... now,_ ” Uhura said, and the ensign pressed two transport control levels upward. As the room faded from view, the ensign's tentacles went suddenly still and his skin flushed yellow in alarm. Kirk thought, _Oh, shi—_


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cerridwen neatly caught an error in the last chapter regarding the number of Khan's cryotubes. I wrote that there were 58, and I honestly have no idea where I got that number from because there should be 71. Thanks for spotting that, Cerridwen!

_—it_ and then they were on the Array. He hastily checked himself and Sh’athylnik, making sure they both had the usual number of arms, legs, and antennae. Sh’athylnik gave him a puzzled look.

Kirk shrugged. “I think my CMO is rubbing off on me,” he whispered.

It seemed appropriate to whisper: it was night on the Array, or at the least the illusion of it. The farm was dark and still, silent except for the occasional hooting of a distant owl. Kirk and Sh’athylnik walked across the lawn toward the barn, the grass swishing softly against their boots and sending up the sweet, dry smell of late summer. Inside, they both pulled out their tricorders. Their machine-hum seemed loud in the quiet.

“The data processing system is behind this wall,” Sh’athylnik murmured, gesturing.

Somewhere nearby, a banjo began to play softly. Kirk nodded to Sh’athylnik. “You know what to do.”

As she slipped away, he crossed the barn, following the sound of the banjo. Around a corner he found the Caretaker sitting on a low stool, plucking at the instrument cradled in his arms. He didn't look up as Kirk approached.

“Well, you're nothing if not persistent,” he grumbled, and plucked out another chord.

The Caretaker looked frailer and more tired than Kirk remembered. He could really believe Trance was right, and he was dying. Even though he knew it was only an illusion, he found it hard to hold his anger when faced with this querulous old man.

“We need you to send us back where we came from,” Kirk said, more gently than he'd intended.

“That isn't possible,” the Caretaker said. “I've barely enough strength to complete my work.”

“The conduits. You’re sealing them before you die.”

“If I don't, the Kazon will steal the water.” His expression turned despairing. “But in a few years, when the Ocampa's energy runs out, it won't matter. They'll be forced to come to the surface and they won't be able to survive.”

“You did something,” Kirk said, the pieces falling into place. “Something that turned their planet into a desert. That's the debt that can never be repaid, isn't it?”

The Caretaker leaned forward, eager for Kirk to understand. “We're explorers from another galaxy. We had no idea that our technology would be so destructive to their atmosphere. Two of us were chosen to stay behind and care for them.”

“There's another like you here?”

“Not anymore,” he said sadly. “No, no. She went off to look for more interesting places.”

Leaving him all alone, far from his home and his people, trying to make right what he had done wrong. Leaving him to die.

But… “Why were you bringing ships here?” Kirk pressed. “Why infect people with a fatal illness?”

“Oh, they didn't die of an illness.” The Caretaker turned dismissive. “They died because they were incompatible.”

“Incompatible with what?”

“I've been searching the galaxy for a compatible biomolecular pattern. Now, in some individuals I found cellular structures that were similar, but I—”

Kirk couldn't believe what he was hearing. “You've been trying to _reproduce?_ ”

It made a terrible kind of sense. The virus-like symptoms McCoy had seen in Chekov and Kati must have been a side-affect as the Caretaker’s genetic material tried to recombine with their own. 

“I needed someone to replace me,” the Caretaker explained earnestly. “Someone who'd understand the enormous responsibility of caring for the Ocampa. Only my offspring could do that.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Kirk didn’t even know where to start. “Did you ever consider letting the Ocampa care for themselves?” he tried.

The Caretaker scoffed. “The Ocampa are children.”

“The Ocampa _have_ children,” Kirk corrected. “Most of them are adults. Their technological advancement doesn’t change that. It doesn’t make them _less_ , only… _naive_.” The Caretaker looked at him without any understanding, so he crouched down, putting their faces at the same level, hoping it might help. “We’re explorers, too. Most of the species we've encountered have overcome all sorts of adversity without anyone to take care of them. It's the challenge of surviving, surviving on their own, that helps them grow and evolve.” 

That was the whole point of the Prime Directive, to allow each species to learn and change in its own way, its own time, without interference from outsiders who thought they knew what was best for it. He had been wrong to interfere on Nibiru, Kirk realized, not because it got him in trouble, but because he had assumed the Nibirans were unable to handle the challenges the universe threw at them. He had treated them like children, when they were not.

“Maybe,” he said gently, “your children will do better than you think.”

The Caretaker met Kirk's eyes, and even though the wrinkled old-man face was only a mask, he could see the real personality behind it. He thought, for a moment, that he might be getting through. And then his communicator chirped.

He stepped away from the Caretaker and flipped it open. “Kirk here.”

“ _Captain, we have a problem._ ”

Of course. It would be too much to ask for something to go according to plan. “What's going on, Spock?”

“ _Khan has escaped._ ”

Kirk went hot, then cold. His grip tightened on the communicator until the plastic creaked in his hand. “How?” he rasped.

“ _Unclear. He never arrived at the Brig and his escort is not responding to hails._ ”

“You mean he's running loose around the ship?” Kirk demanded.

“ _We are searching for him now, Captain_ ,” Spock said. “ _All sensitive areas have been secured, including Sickbay and the cargo hold containing the warheads._ ”

“Keep me posted. Kirk out.” 

He snapped the communicator shut, not trusting himself to say anything more. As satisfying as it would be to yell at Spock, he knew it wasn't the Vulcan's fault. Kirk was the one who had let Khan out of the brig in the first place, let him come on away missions and move about the ship. What the hell had he been thinking? He'd let Khan fool him, just as Marcus had warned him he would.

And how many people would pay for his weakness?

* * *

The two Magog ships, while no match for the _Enterprise_ , were doing surprisingly well at—how would Dr. McCoy phrase it? “Giving her a run for her money.” They were quick and maneuverable, and the _Enterprise_ was hampered by her desire to hold them off, not destroy them. Nonetheless, Spock was confident in the odds of their victory, and his greatest concern, as he sat motionless in the captain’s chair, was Khan’s current freedom about the ship. So it was relief—or it would have been, if Spock felt relief—when Uhura turned to him and said, “I have the latest security report. They've located Harrison's escort.”

“What is their status?”

“Alive,” Uhura said, sounding surprised. She paused, listening to the receiver in her ear. “They were knocked unconscious and concealed in a storage locker on deck five. Dr. McCoy says they'll be fine.”

“Interesting,” Spock mused, “that he chose not to—”

“There's more, sir,” Uhura interrupted. “There was an unauthorized transport from Transporter Room Two. Someone overrode the transporter lock and beamed out when we lowered our shields to transport Commander Sh’athylnik and the Captain.”

“What was the target?”

Uhura's eyes, which had gone distant as she listened to the incoming report, lifted to Spock's. Her expression was grave. “The _Vengeance._ ”

They both turned toward the viewscreen. The _Vengeance_ swung into view as Sulu performed a virtuosic roll, turning the _Enterprise_ to avoid a barrage of weapons fire. The other ship was still dark, but Spock knew that might not last long. Her warp core was dead, but she still had impulse and weapons—and she was designed to be flown by a skeleton crew. Khan had just gained control of the most powerful weapon on the battlefield.

While the rest of the bridge crew hunched over their panels, monitoring condition and readings, Spock and Uhura stared at the specter of the _Vengeance_ —and so they were first ones to see a tangle of light explode out of nothingness and spit out one of the largest ships they had ever seen.

It was fully as large as Nero's ship, the _Narada_ , which had destroyed Vulcan, and had a similar spiky appearance. But where the _Narada_ had been a mining ship altered to carry weapons, this ship had clearly never had any purpose but to destroy. It dwarfed both the Enterprise and Vengeance, and made the Kazon ships look like toys.

The strands of light around it faded and vanished and it began to cruise slowly toward the array. Smaller vessels spewed out of a dozen ports across its surface and streamed toward the _Enterprise_. The smaller ships had sharp, dagger-like hulls, haloed by four insect-like appendages whose function Spock could not immediately ascertain.

The strands of light faded and disappeared as the bridge erupted into controlled chaos.

“Sensors reading eighty-nine new targets—”

“Weapons are locked on to us—they’re firing—”

“Aft shields are dropping, sixty-two percent—”

Spock raised his voice over the barrage of reports. “Evasive maneuvers, Mr. Sulu. Return fire at will. Lieutenant, get me Ms. Gemini or Reverend Behemial.”

Their passengers must have been nearby, because it was only three minutes and twenty-seven before Trance, Kes, and Rev Bem hurried onto the bridge. They checked short at the image on the viewscreen.

“May the Divine protect us,” Rev Bem murmured.

Spock refrained from commenting on the unlikeliness of that scenario. He had learned through hard experience that those who, against all logic, believed in divine beings were often very sensitive on the subject. “Is there anything you can tell us,” he said instead, “regarding the tactics and capabilities of our opponents?”

Kes and Trance looked too horrified to speak. “The smaller ones are swarm ships,” Rev Bem said hoarsely. “Each one carries dozens of warriors. They will attempt to pierce your hull with the points of their vessels, releasing the warriors inside. And then…”

He did not need to finish. McCoy had briefed Spock on Magog physiology, and it was not difficult to deduce what would happen next. 

“And the larger ship?” he pressed.

“That… that shouldn’t be here,” Trance whispered.

Rev Bem shook his head. “I have never seen anything like that before.”

Spock considered the changed battlefield—the Enterprise alone and hopelessly outnumbered against the enormous swarm of ship, and perhaps the Vengeance as well—and was forced to conclude that the probable outcome had changed from near-certain victory to near-certain defeat.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! The next scene is quite long so I had to separate them.

Sh’athylnik slipped up behind Kirk. “I can access the system that will send us back to Federation space,” she said, “but it will take several hours to activate.”

Kirk looked to the Caretaker. “Unless you help us.”

“Oh, I wish I could,” the Caretaker said, “but I have very little time left, so I have initiated a self-destruct program.”

Kirk's stomach swooped. “If you destroy the array, you leave us stranded here.”

“The Ocampa's enemies cannot be allowed to control this installation,” the Caretaker insisted. “You have to go. Go now!”

As if to underscore the urgency of his words, a blast shook the Array. Around the them, the illusion of the barn flickered, revealing the alien architecture underneath. Kirk thought it was part of the self-destruct sequence, but the Caretaker looked wildly around, alarmed. Kirk snapped open his communicator.

“Kirk to _Enterprise_. What's going on out there?”

“ _More Magog ships have arrived and engaged with us,_ ” Spock said. “ _One of them just collided with the array._ ”

The hologram died completely, leaving Kirk and Sh’athylnik in a high-ceilinged room whose walls were lined with complex panels and controls. Kirk barely noticed; his attention was fixed on the Caretaker. With the illusion stripped away, he was no longer an old man, or anything humanoid. He looked more like an enormous, purple jellyfish than anything else.

He forced his attention back to the _Enterprise_. “More Magog? How many.”

“ _Eighty-nine, sir._ ”

Kirk listened with growing horror as Spock described the Magog ships and their tactics. “ _Captain,_ ” Spock finished, “ _If you are you able to convince the Caretaker to return us to the Alpha Quadrant, now would be the ideal time._ ”

“Standby.” Something was happening to the Caretaker. His body rippled and began shrink, falling in on itself.

“The self-destruct program has been damaged,” the Caretaker breathed. He no longer sounded like an old man, but his voice was still strained and weak. “Now this installation will not be destroyed... but it must be. The Magog, the Kazon, the others... must not be allowed to gain control of it... they will annihilate the Ocampa...”

His voice failed. His body collapsed entirely, leaving nothing but a small rock lying on the floor where he had been. Kirk knelt beside it and cautiously picked it up. It looked and felt like a rock, no different than any rock he could find on Earth, though it seemed heavy for its size. He turned it over in his hands, wondering. The Caretaker had been unlike any alien he had ever encountered, and yet so much like him, too. He, too, was an explorer. They could have learned so much from one another, but now...

“Captain, should I activate the program to send us back?” Sh’athylnik asked.

Kirk set down the rock. “And if we do?” he asked softly. “What happens to the Ocampa once we're gone?”

“Whatever was going to happen to them, anyway.” Sh’athylnik said. “If we try to protect the Ocampa, we'll be violating the Prime Directive.”

“To hell with the Prime Directive,” Kirk snapped. “What is it with first officers and the Prime Directive?”

Sh’athylnik crossed her arms over her chest. “You were the one who chided the Caretaker for not allowing the Ocampa to develop on their own terms. Now that he's gone, will you begin interfering in his place?”

“We're already interfering! Khan was right—we've been interfering from the moment the Caretaker dragged us here. If the _Enterprise_ wasn't fighting those Magog ships, the Array might not have been damaged and the self-destruct system would be counting down even now. We've already affected the Ocampa, the Caretaker, and maybe even the balance of power between the Magog and the other species in this system.”

“You can't know that,” Ta'sar countered. “You can't know what might have happened, or what happen in the future. All you can know is that you're about to break the Prime Directive, the most important principle of Starfleet.”

“The Prime Directive is already in shreds. Don't we have a responsibility to fix what we've broken?” When her expression remained unchanged, he said, “You saw their city, you saw what kind of people the Ocampa are. If we do nothing, we’ll doom them as surely as if we killed them ourselves.”

Sh’athylnik flattened her antennae and looked away. “What about the crew?” she asked. “What about _us?_ ”

Kirk looked away, too. “I don't want to be stuck out here any more than you do,” he said softly. “But I can't sacrifice the lives of the Ocampa for our convenience. We'll just have to find a different way home.”


	26. Chapter 26

Kirk returned to a ship in chaos. The damage from the Caretaker's wave had barely begun to be repaired, and now half-fixed systems were pushed to the brink by the demands of combat while untrained personnel struggled to learn their knew duties in the middle of a firefight. He and Sh’athylnik stepped onto the Bridge just in time to hear Sulu say in strained voice, “Forward shields down to twenty-five percent.”

Spock immediately stood from the Captain's chair, but Kirk didn't sit yet. He studied the viewscreen in dismay; the sheer size of the Magog ship, and the sheer number of its swarm ships, were overwhelming. Spock had done well to keep the _Enterprise_ in one piece against such odds. Kirk wasn't afraid of bad odds, but these were steeper than he liked. They needed to finish their business here and get out while they still could.

“Commander, ready the tricobolt devices.”

“Yes, Captain.” Sh’athylnik claimed one of the unmanned Tactical stations and began working at the panel. 

Trance looked puzzled. “What are explosives going to do against so many ships?” she asked.

This was one of the reasons Kirk didn’t like having civilians on his bridge—they had a tendency to get underfoot and ask too many questions. He frowned at Spock for letting them on in the first place, but the Vulcan only shrugged and lifted a chiding brow as if to say, _What else should I have done?_ Kirk rolled his eyes at him and said to Trance, “They’re not for the Magog ships—they’re for the Array.”

“Forgive me, Captain,” Rev Bem said. “But isn't the Array your only means of returning to your own quadrant?”

“Tell me something I don't know,” Kirk muttered. He was aware of the glances crew all over the bridge were giving him, ranging from confused to horrified. “Sh’athylnik, are those explosives ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fire.”

From the blaze of phasers and torpedoes Sulu directed against the Magog swarm, two small blue lights arched away from the battlefield and struck the Array. The silent explosion lit up the nearest ships and sent debris flying—some of it, Kirk was pleased to note, striking enemy ships.

As if antagonized by the destruction of the Array, the enormous Magog ship, which had held aloof from the fighting, began to advance on the _Enterprise_. Still outside the _Enterprise's_ weapons range, it released a barrage of missiles that flew straight toward them. Sulu managed to evade most of them, but one smashed into the saucer section. The impact threw Kirk to the deck, and he heard a panel explode nearby as an overload blew out a power conduit.

“Forward shields are down,” Sh’athylnik reported, belatedly.

“Hull breaches on Decks B and C,” Uhura shouted over the whoop of alarms. “Repair crews are responding—”

They couldn't afford another hit like that. Kirk dragged himself into the Captain's chair and called Engineering. “Scotty, have we got the warp engines back?”

_“I can give ye warp one, Captain, but anything more's like to cause permanent damage.”_

Warp one couldn't possibly outrun a ship that size. “Ensign Tellammea, take a look around, see if you can find anything nearby we can use to hide—a gas giant, a nebula, anything—”

“Captain,” Spock interrupted. “The _Vengeance_ is powering up its systems.”

Faced with the immediate threat of the Magog, Kirk had almost forgotten about the _Vengeance_. “What's Khan doing?”

“He's bringing weapons online... he's firing at the lead Magog ship.”

On the viewscreen, bright lines of fire arched toward the massive Magog ship. In response, a dozen swarm ship peeled off the main fleet and began harrying the _Vengeance_. 

“What the hell?” Kirk muttered. He shook his head. It didn't matter why Khan was doing it, only that he was. With his help, they might actually have a chance to make it out this alive. “Mr. Sulu, let's mop up these swarm ships and give the _Vengeance_ a hand.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu said enthusiastically.

It wasn't that easy, of course. Scotty managed to restore power to the forward shields, but there were still a dozen swarm ships circling the _Enterprise_. By the time they managed to defeat their immediate attackers, their shields were failing again and their phaser banks were dangerously low on power.

The _Vengeance_ was not doing much better. She was larger and better armed than the _Enterprise_ , but she faced not just a dozen swarm ships of her own, but also the lead Magog vessel. Every time the massive ship opened fire, the _Vengeance's_ shields flared wildly and lost more and more power. Yet Khan continued fighting, single-handedly piloting, firing, and managing ship systems. Despite himself, Kirk was awed by the man's skill.

They destroyed the last swarm ships almost in unison, and the _Enterprise_ and the _Vengeance_ came about together to face the Magog ship. Kirk felt a thrill of hope. Both ships were in poor condition, but surely the Magog ship was likewise weakened. Perhaps together they could actually win instead of just escaping with their skins intact. 

Another barrage of weapon's fire struck the _Vengeance_ , visibly rocking the ship.

“The _Vengeance's_ shields are failing,” Spock said. Then, “The Magog ship appears to be readying another wave of swarm ships.”

Kirk looked at him in dismay, his brief surge of hope gone as quickly as it had come. The first wave of swarm ships had nearly destroyed them; they had no hope of surviving a second, let alone the lead ship, which did not, as Kirk listened to the reports coming in, seem to be significantly damaged at all. He could feel desperation closing in on him. _I don't believe in a no-win situation_ , he'd insisted, but he didn't see how they could win this one.

“Ensign Tellammea, have you got a foxhole for me?”

“Affirmative, sir,” ze said, in hir deep voice. “Presence-nebula. Distance-twelve-lightyears.”

“Set a course. Lieutenant Uhura, hail the _Vengenace_. Put it onscreen.”

The bridge of the _Vengeance_ appeared, hazy with smoke and lit by electrical fire. Khan crouched over one of the forward stations, his his eyes fixed on the controls. He spared Kirk one slashing look, then returned his attention to the panel in front of him.

_“I am somewhat busy at the moment, Captain. What do you want?”_

Kirk resisted the urge to answer that question honestly. “The Magog are about to launch more swarm ships, and neither of us is in any condition to go another round. We have to get out of here. Drop your shields and we'll beam you back.”

_“You can't outrun this foe, Kirk.”_

“I can't outfight it, and neither can you!”

_“That remains to be seen. Stand by to transport me on my mark.”_

The image cut off, leaving Kirk fuming at the viewscreen. _The nerve—_

If Khan wanted to get himself killed, that was just one less thing for Kirk to worry about. “Mr. Sulu—”

“The _Vengeance_ is changing course,” Spock interrupted. “Khan is on a collision course with the Magog ship.”

“What?”

But Kirk could already see it for himself on the viewscreen, where the schematic showed the _Enterprise_ and the Magog ship, the debris from the Caretaker's Array lying between them. The _Vengeance_ , which had been not far from the _Enterprise_ , was now arrowing toward the Magog ship. As Kirk watched, another dozen swarm ships spewed out of the lead ship's hull and raced toward the _Vengeance._

“I'm detecting a massive energy surge in his warp engines,” Spock continued.

“I thought the _Vengeance's_ warp drive was cold.”

“Correct. Attempting to engage the engines in this state may cause a dangerous energy buildup in the warp core, likely resulting in a core breach.” Spock turned away from his station to face Kirk. “Captain, I believe Khan intends to destroy the Magog ship by colliding with it and triggering an antimatter explosion.”

“No,” Kirk said, hardly aware of what he was saying. “He can't—no.” 

He remembered the footage he had retrieved after hacking the Academy computer system, footage his mother had never let him see—the _Kelvin_ flying bravely into the jaws of the _Narada_ , the brief flare of light as his father died a hero. Khan didn't deserve a hero's death, didn't deserve to save them. How dare he pretend to be anything other than criminal Kirk knew he was? _Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives..._ Pike's words, Pike who had died at Khan's hands. And now Khan had placed his life in Kirk's own hands.

“Can we get a transporter lock on him?” he demanded hoarsely.

“Negative. His shields are still holding.”

“Have the Transporter Room stand by. I want him beamed out the second those shields come down. Tellammea, lay down covering fire. Keep those swarm ships off his back or he'll never come close. Uhura, get him back on the line.”

The _Enterprise_ shuddered as a handful of swarm ships peeled off the Vengeance to renew their attack. Sulu launched into evasive maneuvers before Kirk could even give the order, and Tellammea responded with phasers and torpedoes. Kirk stared at the viewscreen, watching the Vengeance draw closer to the Magog ship as system after system began to fail.

“I've got him, sir,” Uhura said. “Audio only.”

“Khan, your ship's barely holding together,” Kirk said. “Drop your shields and we'll get you out of there.”

_“Not yet.”_ The transmission was staticky, but Kirk could hear the strain in his voice. _“The autopilot is offline. I need to pilot the final course manually.”_

Kirk shivered. “Give me a live view,” he said, and the viewscreen switched from a schematic of the battle to a magnified view of the Magog lead ship. The Vengeance, silhouetted against it, looked toylike.

“The _Vengeance's_ shields have failed,” Spock said.

“Energize—”

_“No! Not yet!”_

Kirk gritted his teeth. “Standby. Maintain that transporter lock!”

“Captain, the _Vengeance_ is breaking up.”

“Khan—!”

_“Now!”_

“Energize!”

On the viewscreen, the failing _Vengeance_ cleared the last of the harrying swarm ships and crashed into the aft of the Magog ship. A bright prick of light marked the impact, followed a heartbeat later by a massive explosion as the antimatter containment in the warp core failed. The Magog ship reeled, trailing debris and clouds of vented atmosphere. Kirk smashed his hand down on the comm controls of his chair.

“Transporter room, do you have him?”

_“I'm here, Kirk,”_ Khan said. His voice was calm despite his close brush with death.

“ _Stay there,_ ” Kirk snapped, and switched channels. “Security, report to Transporter Room One immediately and escort Mr. Harrison to the brig.”

_“Aye, sir.” ___

__“The Magog are withdrawing,” Spock said, drawing Kirk's attention back to the viewscreen. The swarm ships were slipping back into the hull of the damaged lead ship. As Kirk watched, some kind of energy sparked along the surface of the ship. A swirl of light blossomed out of nothingness, and the Magog ship turned into its center and vanished as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. Kirk passed his hand over his face and allowed himself to release the breath he felt as though he had been holding for days._ _


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the obligatory post-plot heart-to-heart with Rev Bem. Can't you just hear the Andromeda theme playing in the background?

When the last officer filed out of the briefing room Kirk allowed himself to drop his elbows onto the table and buried his head in his hands. He did not groan aloud: he had too much pride for that. He was the captain of the only Starfleet vessel in the Delta Quadrant, and if he had an occasional, quiet breakdown in private, well, the important thing was that it was _quiet_.

But he would have liked to have a real breakdown, one with smashing things, some hysterics, maybe even a little primal screaming. The only Starfleet vessel in the Delta Quadrant had just had her first staff meeting, and her captain wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock. Preferably a rock in the Alpha Quadrant.

“Captain?”

Kirk jerked his head up and saw, to his chagrin, that there was still someone left in the room. Spock stood beside the door, hands clasped behind his back and looking as apologetic as a Vulcan could look.

“Spock,” Kirk said blankly. It could have been worse, he thought. It could have been one of the junior officers, or Sh’athylnik. “What is it?”

“I wanted to speak to you further regarding Mr. Harrison.”

Now Kirk did groan. The usual business of a staff meeting—repairs, crew assignments, and the like—had been straightforward enough, if depressing. They had salvaged as much as they could from the debris of the _Vengeance_ before destroying what remained so no Federation technology couldn’t fall into alien hands, but repairs were still slow. Sh’athylnik had agreed that she and the rest of the _Vengeance_ crew would be absorbed into the _Enterprise_ crew, filling vacant positions as they could, but the Enterprise was still painfully understaffed. The mood of the meeting had been grim—even before the question of what to do with Khan, Kati, and their 71 sleeping crewmates was raised.

“I’m pretty sure I made it clear discussion was closed on that subject, Spock.”

“Yet no decision was reached,” Spock pointed out.

“The decision is mine,” Kirk said tiredly. “I’m the captain.” That responsibility weighed heavily on him, now. Kirk was not the kind of person to send problems up the chain of command when he could deal with them himself, but he wished Pike was here now to give him some advice.

“Indeed,” Spock said. “Yet it occurs to me that you might lack objectivity in this decision.”

“And you think I could use a good dose of Vulcan logic while making it?”

Spock wisely said nothing. Kirk sighed. “You’re right, I’m not objective at all. You heard what everyone said—” And it seemed like everyone had an opinion, from McCoy to Uhura to Sh’athylnik. “—what’s the logical solution?”

“The logical solution,” Spock said, “would be to return all of them to stasis.”

“I know,” Kirk said. They were both silent for a moment and then Kirk said, reluctantly, “He saved my life down there, Spock.”

“He saved your life three times,” Spock corrected. “On Qo’noS, on Ocampa, and in the battle with the Magog. On no occasion were his actions selfless: by saving you his furthered his own aim of freeing and reviving his crew.”

“On Qo’noS, yes,” Kirk agreed. “And when he boarded the _Vengeance_ —maybe.” Kirk still could not shake the image of the _Vengeance’s_ dive toward the Magog ship from his mind. “But not in the tunnels. He could have left me there to die and he didn’t. He risked his life to save mine, at no benefit to himself.”

“It may have been a calculated risk intended to win your trust,” Spock suggested, “allowing him greater opportunity for escape in the future.”

It was something Kirk had already considered. If that was Khan’s plan, it had worked perfectly, allowing him to escape to the _Vengeance_ —except he hadn’t really escaped, had he? He had used his freedom to save the _Enterprise_ and wound up back in the brig—though if Kirk hadn’t beamed him out at the last moment, he would have wound up burning along with the Vengeance.

Maybe he had considered it a _calculated risk_ , since his sleeping crew, stored in one of the _Enterprise’s_ cargo holds, lived and died with the ship. Maybe he hadn’t even considered it that great of a risk, maybe he was confident Kirk would _do the right thing_ and not leave him to die. Maybe his heroics aboard the _Vengeance_ were meant to cement Kirk’s trust, trick Kirk into dropping his guard completely. _Maybe, maybe, maybe._

Spock was still watching him, waiting patiently for him to make some response. Kirk felt a sudden rush of gratitude that this man, reliable and infuriating and loyal, was here and his friend. He opened his mouth to say something—he didn’t know what, only that it probably didn’t have anything to do with Khan—when the briefing room door slid open.

“I hope we are not intruding,” Rev Bem said. “Lieutenant Sulu said we might find you here.”

“Not at all,” Kirk said. “Come in.”

Rev Bem stepped into the room, followed closely by Trance and Kes, who were holding hands. Spock, apparently deciding there would be no further discussion of Khan and his crew, excused himself. When the door closed behind him Kirk said, “We’ve supplied your ship with water and she’s ready to go. But before you leave—I’d like to thank you for your help. We never would have got Kati and Chekov back without you.”

Kes offered one of her small smiles. “You’re welcome, Captain, though it was least we could do after the help you gave us. But it’s leaving that we wanted to talk to you about—we’d like to stay.”

That wasn’t what Kirk had expected. “This isn’t a passenger ship,” he said.

“We know that,” Trance said earnestly. “We won’t be passengers—we can help you. You don’t know this part of space, but we do. We can act as guides, help you find supplies, contacts, whatever you need.”

“Captain,” Kes said, “we want very much to be a part of your journey.”

Kirk looked at the three of them—Rev Bem hideous, Kes delicate, Trance adorable—and thought he could never have imagined a more unlikely set of guides. He had to admit, though, that he could use them. Not since the original _Enterprise_ set out on her first mission of exploration had an Earth vessel flown so blindly into such uncharted territory, and Kirk had a feeling that before they made it home they would give old Admiral Archer’s legacy a run for its money.

“It won’t be safe,” he warned them, because he knew there would be trouble. There was always trouble. “And you’ll wind up a long way from home.”

“We are aware of the dangers,” Rev Bem said. “But also the rewards.”

Kirk couldn’t think of a better way to describe his own crew’s attitude toward their mission. He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth and nodded. “Alright. Welcome aboard.”

Trance and Kes beamed at him, and at each other, and slipped out of the room, still holding hands. Rev Bem lingered in the doorway.

“Forgive me, Captain,” he said, “but you seem troubled. May I ask what is on your mind?”

Maybe it was the monastic demeanor, or maybe it was the same urge that prompted people to pour out their troubles to strangers in spaceport bars. Kirk had known Rev Bem for less than a full day, and yet he found himself saying, “It’s about Khan—John Harrison. I have no idea what to do with him.”

Rev Bem looked puzzled. Of course, he knew nothing of Khan’s history, had barely interacted with the man. “He saved your life on the planet, did he not? And he saved us all from the Magog. Surely that calls for gratitude at least.”

He sounded merely curious, but also like he already knew the answer was complicated. Kirk remembered an instructor at the Academy like that, a woman who asked gentle questions that led to more gentle questions that eventually led you to talk yourself into a corner. There was no point arguing with her, because you just wound up arguing with yourself—and somehow you always lost.

“He did,” Kirk said. “But before that… he’s a criminal. He’s killed dozens of people—including someone who was very close to me. One good deed isn’t enough to erase that.”

“Then your decision should be simple.” Rev Bem spread his clawed hands. “Imprison him, or execute him, or do whatever it is your people do with killers.”

Kirk pushed to his feet and paced restlessly across the room, wishing there was a window so he could pretend to look out it. “The thing is,” he said, and stopped.

Behind him, Rev Bem said nothing.

“The thing is,” Kirk said, “I can’t help but see myself in him. The things he did… I’m not sure I would have acted so differently, in his position.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who would kill innocents.”

Kirk gave a short, humorless laugh. “I hope not. I would never strike a civilian target like the Kelvin Archive. But he considered himself to be at war with Starfleet. The attack on Starfleet headquarters… a surprise blow against the enemy’s top command is a smart move. If we were at war with the Romulans or the Klingons and he made the same attack against them, I would call it a brilliant tactical decision. A bit cold-blooded, but still brilliant.”

“Then you believe his actions to be justified.”

“No,” Kirk said. That much, if nothing else, he could be confident of. “What he did was wrong. He acted out of a desire for vengeance, not justice or even survival.”

He turned around and found Rev Bem watching him closely. “And you?” the Magog asked. “Out of what desire have your actions arisen, since Harrison killed this man who meant so much to you?”

Kirk looked away. It wasn’t justice that had brought him from Earth to Qo’noS.

“I see,” Rev Bem said, and Kirk thought he did. “Tell me, Captain: do your people understand the concept of forgiveness?”

“Of course.”

“Many people believe forgiveness is only for the person who is forgiven,” Rev Bem said. “But that is not true. Forgiveness is also for the person who forgives. Holding on to your anger and pain has caused you to do things you know to be wrong, just as it has for Harrison. You cannot make him forgive, but you can forgive him.”

Kirk shook his head. “There have to be consequences for his actions.”

“There are always consequences to one’s actions,” Rev Bem said, gently rephrasing Kirk’s statement. “But those consequences are not for mortals to determine. Only the Divine knows what will come of our choices: all we can do is try to make right what we have done wrong.”

“You’re saying I should give him a second chance.”

Kirk wanted to deny the suggestion outright. He had Khan’s measure—the man was a criminal, and justice for all the people he had killed demanded he be punished for his crimes. But if he was honest with himself, what he really wanted was vengeance for Pike’s death. 

Pike had given him a second chance, when everyone else had given up on him.

“You say you see yourself in Harrison,” Rev Bem said. “If your positions were reversed, what would you want him to do with you?”

Kirk thought he knew the answer, and he didn’t like it.


	28. Chapter 28

All over the _Enterprise_ , people breathed easier as things became—not normal, precisely, but less chaotic. Kirk, taking the long way to the brig, noted the expressions of the crewmen he passed. Some seemed almost relaxed; most appeared strained, but calm enough; and if a few cast Kirk dark looks when they thought he couldn't see, he didn't blame them. He wasn't happy with all of the decisions he had made lately, either. But Bones assured him that though morale was low, it wasn't disastrously so, and the crew still had faith in him. Whether that faith was deserved, Kirk supposed only time would tell. Everything was going as well as could be expected for a battered starship millions of light-years from her home—with one exception.

Kirk found that exception sitting in his cell in the brig, as still as if he were carved from stone. Khan watched him cross the room with no expression on his face, only rising to his feet when Kirk reached the barrier. They faced each other through the glass, blue eyes facing brown. It was both like, and unlike, the first time Kirk had confronted Khan in this cell. So much had changed between them, and yet nothing had changed at all. Kirk hesitated, unsure where to begin.

Khan broke the silence first. “Captain,” he said, and Kirk marveled at how he turned the rank into an insult. He realized he was wrong: there was an expression on Khan's face, one of cold, tightly controlled fury.

It was not how Kirk wanted to start this conversation. “Kati is doing well,” he offered. “Dr. McCoy says she'll be out of Sickbay by the end of ship-day.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Khan said coolly. “And what then? Will you imprison her here in the brig, as well?”

“That depends on you.”

“She is to be hostage to my good behavior, then,” Khan said, and the cold rage became a little less controlled.

“No.” Kirk shook his head, frustrated. “That's not what I'm saying.”

“You gave me your word, _Captain_ ,” Khan spat. “I've proven my word is good; what is yours worth?”

“I promised I would revive your people once we returned to the Alpha Quadrant,” Kirk countered. “In case you hadn't noticed, that's not going to happen anytime soon.”

Khan's face twisted and he stepped closer to the glass. Kirk was suddenly very grateful for the barrier between them. “So you are liar and a hypocrite, just like Marcus,” Khan snarled. “She was wrong; I was a fool to believe you were different.”

She? Kirk wondered, but only for a heartbeat. “I am nothing like Marcus,” he said, fighting to keep his voice level. “I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it to the best of my ability. But the situation has changed. I have no idea how long it will take us to get back to home—it could be decades. And I cannot afford to turn loose on my ship a small army of supermen who will probably mutiny the moment I let down my guard. So I'm offering you a choice.”

Khan said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly. Kirk decided to take this as a good sign.

“The first is that you and Kati return to stasis, and we keep all of you on ice until we return to the Alpha Quadrant, whenever that is. Then I revive your crew, just as I said I would. You stand trial for your crimes, and I do everything I can to make sure your people can live their lives in peace as Federation citizens.”

“Those cryotubes are antiquated,” Khan said. “Several have already failed.” His expression faltered slightly. “They are unlikely to last long enough to reach the Alpha Quadrant.”

“I know. Bones and Scotty think they can keep the tubes running longer, and construct new ones as needed. But Bones also says that past a certain point, the longer someone is in stasis, the smaller the chance they can be revived successfully. He believes your people are on the edge of that point, and a few additional decades may mean some of them don't make it.” Kirk let out a slow breath. This was Spock’s “logical” solution. “It's not my favorite scenario.”

“And the other?”

“We find a promising M-class planet and put you and your crew down on it, along with as many supplies as we can spare. If your colony is successful, you live out your lives in peace. If not...” Kirk shook his head. “Anything could happen out here.”

Khan looked intrigued. “A challenge,” he mused. “A planet to win. That is a fair offer, Kirk. I—”

“Wait. There's one more.” Kirk steeled himself. He was less sure than ever of the wisdom of this choice, especially after being reminded of the volatility of Khan's temper. But after his talk with Rev Bem, he knew the offer had to be made, no matter how foolhardy he was to make it. “You join my crew, join the _Enterprise_. You all receive Starfleet field commissions, and you all take orders from me. Including you.”

Khan's eyes widened, then narrowed. “You just expressed your reluctance to let loose a 'small army of supermen' aboard your ship,” he said. “How is this any different?”

“If the rest of your people are anything like Kati, they're completely loyal to you,” Kirk said. “If you tell them to follow my orders, and the orders of my officers, they'll do it.”

“You mean to make me an officer aboard your ship?”

“Yes.”

Khan was frowning now. “You would be a fool to trust me so much,” he said roughly.

“That's what everyone else said,” Kirk muttered. Louder, he said, “You told me you believed I was the one who could save us all.” His mouth was very dry. “Do you still believe that?”

Khan was silent for a long time, searching Kirk's face for something—what, Kirk didn't know. Slowly, he said, “Yes, I do.”

Why Khan would believe that, Kirk couldn't understand, nor why it mattered so much to him that Khan did. He let out a slow breath. “Then you'd be a fool to betray me.”

“Enlightened self-interest.”

“Exactly.”

“Of course,” Khan continued, “there is benefit for yourself, as well. You've sustained heavy casualties; your ship is undermanned. No doubt you think you can use my crew to your own ends.”

The slight emphasis he placed on use told Kirk what he thought of such an arrangement. Kirk leaned closer to the glass. “Let me make this clear,” he grated. “I don't need you. I don't need your crew. Serving aboard the Enterprise is an honor and a privilege, not a penal sentence, and if you see it differently I won't have you or any of your people, no matter how useful you may be.”

Khan was silent for a long moment. “And if I refuse all of your choices?” he said finally.

“Then we go with option one—you and Kati go back on ice, and I wake you when we get to the Alpha Quadrant.”

He looked away, his expression unreadable. “If you need time to consider—” Kirk began.

“That won't be necessary,” Khan said, as coolly as if they were discussing travel arrangements aboard a cruise liner. “I have no desire to return to stasis, and while the challenge of carving out a colony on an alien world has its appeal, neither do I desire to live out the rest of my life in exile. I accept your offer of a place aboard this ship, for myself and for my crew.”

It was the best choice, and the worst choice, he could have made. Kirk wasn't sure whether he felt dismayed or relieved. “Fine,” he said. “Ensign—”

The officer at the security terminal lowered the glass barrier, and then there was nothing between Kirk and Khan but half a meter of empty air. Khan made no move to step out of his cell; Kirk made no move to step aside.

“Kati tells me she’s an astrophysicist,” Kirk said. “I'll give her the rank of ensign and assign her to astrometrics. What about you? Do you have any specialties besides designing illegal weapons?”

Kirk regretted—almost—the words as soon as they left his mouth: he had resolved not to antagonize Khan. But Khan only shrugged, unconcerned. “I was once an engineer of sorts,” he said.

“Engineering, then,” Kirk said. “The rank of commander seems fair, since that's what you held as John Harrison. Since Harrison isn't your real name—”

“ _Khan_ will do.”

Kirk lifted an eyebrow. “That means 'ruler,' doesn't it? I don't think so.”

Khan's lips twitched in a half-smile. “Very well. My name is Khan Noonien Singh.”

The name stirred something at the back of Kirk's mind, but he couldn't place it. Stiffly, he offered his hand. “Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Commander Singh.”

Khan's handshake was firm but not crushing, and equally stiff. “Thank you, Captain.”

It was not, Kirk reflected, the most auspicious start. But it could have been worse.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The last chapter!! After all this time!!! Thank you so much to everyone who kudoed or reviewed. If you haven't reviewed yet, you should! This is your last chance, and though I love kudoes, I love reviews more :)

At ten-hundred hours the next day Scotty called the bridge to tell Kirk the engines were ready for sustained warp. All major repairs of the ship were complete. There was nothing left to wait for.

“Uhura, give me shipwide.”

“Shipwide, sir.”

“Attention all hands,” Kirk said, and heard his voice echoing, magnified, throughout the ship. Around the bridge, heads turned to look at him, and he looked at them in turn: Uhura, alert, one hand poised over the comm panel; Sulu, grave and yet, as ever, with quiet humor in his yes; Chekov, restored to full health and bright with it; Spock, wonderfully impassive amid the others, who wore their emotions plain on their faces; Bones, who had come onto the bridge an hour ago on the pretense of delivering a report, and stayed to lean over Kirk's shoulder and offer unwanted advice; Sh’athylnik, watchful and wary; and Khan, wearing Operations red and a commander's two broad stripes—in provisional black rather than the usual silver—and watching Kirk with cool, dark eyes. 

“This is your captain,” he continued, and the reality of that responsibility settled over him like a weight. He took a deep breath before going on. “We are alone in an uncharted part of the galaxy. We've already made some friends here—” he smiled slightly, thinking of Trance and Rev Bem “—and some enemies. We have no idea of the dangers we are going to face, but one thing is clear. We are all going to have to work together if we want to survive. That's why Commander Sh’athylnik, Commander Singh—who you may know as John Harrison—and I have agreed that this should be one crew. A Starfleet crew.”

His eyes went to Sh’athylnik, who nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and to Khan, who made no move at all. They held each others' gaze for a long moment, and looked away at the same time.

“As the only Starfleet vessel assigned to the Delta Quadrant, we'll continue to follow our directive to seek out new worlds and explore space. But our primary goal is clear. Even at maximum speeds, it would take seventy-five years to reach the Federation, but I'm not willing to settle for that.” 

This, he knew, was the most important thing he had to say, both to himself, and his crew: he was not giving up. _They_ were not giving up. 

“There's another entity like the Caretaker out there somewhere who has the ability to get us there a lot faster. We'll be looking for her, and we'll be looking for wormholes, spatial rifts, or new technologies to help us. Somewhere along this journey, we'll find a way back.” He looked around again at the faces of his crew, his friends. “Mister Chekov, set a course for home.”

“Course laid in, sir.”

“Mr. Sulu—warp six. _Engage._ ”

Through the viewscreen, the pinprick stars blurred into long streamers of light as the darkness leapt forward to meet them.

* * *

Some time later, Spock approached the captain's chair, leaned over Kirk's shoulder, and said softly, “Captain, may I speak to you in your ready room?”

Kirk glanced up at his grave face and felt a twinge of unease. “Of course.”

When they had settled themselves on opposite sides of Kirk's desk, Spock placed a padd on the glass surface. “Khan's comment that Admiral Marcus gave him a false name to avoid the discovery of his true identity led me to wonder what that identity might be, and why the Admiral was so determined it remain secret,” Spock said. “A search through the historical database produced this.”

Kirk picked up the padd and began scrolling through the information there. In Spock's precise, efficient style it was all laid out: the genetic experimentation project that would have destroyed all human life on Earth except its own specially bred supermen; the aggressive military expansion, the rise to power; the empire spanning more than quarter of the world's surface. Then the infighting, the downfall, the disappearance. And through it all, Khan's name, again and again. The name of the man he had just allied himself with.

“Oh, God,” Kirk breathed. “What have I done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, did you think I wouldn't leave you with one last cliffhanger? Don't worry, I have a sequel or two in mind!


End file.
